Alien 3
   
   
   
   
   
   
   Screenplay by         Larry Ferguson
                         David Giler
                         Walter Hill
   
   Produced by           Gordon Carroll
                         David Giler
                         Walter Hill
   
   Directed by           David Fincher
   
   
   
   Cast List:
   
   Sigourney Weaver      Ripley
   Charles S. Dutton     Dillon
   Charles Dance         Clemens
   Paul McGann           Golic
   Brian Glover          Andrews
   Ralph Brown           Aaron
   Danny Webb            Morse
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   Unused Script
   
   
   
                                               FADE IN:
   
   
   DEEP SPACE - THE FUTURE
   
   The silent field of stars - eclipsed by the dark bulk
   of an approaching ship.
   
   
   ANGLE ON THE HULL
   
   A towering cliff of metal, Sulaco.
   
   
   INT. SULACO - HYPERSLEEP VAULT
   
   TRACKING DOWN the line of empty, open capsules. Frozen
   twilight. The final four capsules are sealed, lids in
   place.
   
   
   ANGLE - INSIDE CAPSULE
   
   NEWT, then RIPLEY. HICKS next, his head and chest
   bandaged. Then BISHOP in his caul of plastic. But the
   lid of Bishop's capsule is misted with hothouse
   condensation.
   
   
   CLOSER
   
   A tear of fluid streaks the condensation.
   
   An alarm SOUNDS.
   
   A monitor begins to scroll data.
   
   
   TIGHT ON MONITOR
   
   "TROOP TRANSPORT SULACO
   CMC 846A/BETA
   MISSION/LV-426 / RETURN
   STATUS RED
   TREATY VIOLATION
   REF: #99AG558L5
   CAUSE: NAVIGATIONAL ERROR"
   
   Bland feminine voice of the ship's computer, as the
   alarm continues to SOUND.
   
                       COMPUTER
             Attention. Due to failure of
             navigational circuitry, Sulaco has
             entered a sector claimed by the
             Union of Progressive Peoples.
             Auxiliary systems are now on line.
             Course corrected. Hardwired
             protocols prevent, repeat, prevent
             arming of nuclear warheads in the
             absence of Diplomatic Override,
             Decryption Standard Charlie Nine.
             On present course, Sulaco will exit
             the U.P.P. sector at nineteen
             hundred hours fifty three point
             eight minutes.
   
   
   EXT. SULACO
   
   The ship slides past beneath us. A U.P.P. interceptor
   descends INTO FRAME, matching course and speed with
   Sulaco. The interceptor settles on Sulaco like a wasp.
   
   
   INT. INTERCEPTOR
   
   Three commandos climb into spacesuits. The Leader opens
   a hatch in the deck, revealing one of Sulaco's
   airlocks. FIRST COMMANDO, a young Vietnamese woman,
   scrambles down and attaches magnetic units to the
   airlock. SECOND COMMANDO studies a monitor, tapping out
   a sequence on a keyboard. First Commando gestures from
   hatch: no good. Second Commando tries again. A grating
   SOUND as Sulaco's airlock begins to open.
   
   
   INT. SULACO - CARGO LOCK
   
   Darkness. Armed commandos climb through opening and
   descend a ladder. Reaching the deck, they fan out,
   weapons ready. Their leader examines the damaged
   dropship. First Commando gestures urgently. She's found
   something.
   
   Bishop's legs, broken, grotesquely twisted, still in
   fatigues, the white android blood clotted into powder.
   First and Second Commandos exchange looks through their
   faceplates.
   
                       COMPUTER
             Attention. Integrity breach, Cargo
             Lock 3. Security alert. Integrity
             breach, B Deck...
   
   
   INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT - LEADER'S POV
   
   The chilly aisle of capsules.
   
   Commandos move down the line, guns poised. They peer in
   at Newt, Ripley, and Hicks, but the lid of Bishop's
   capsule is pearl-white. The Leader tries the controls
   at the foot of the capsule, where green and red
   indicators glow.
   
   Nothing happens. He opens a panel, finds an emergency
   lever, tries it. The green indicators wink off. The lid
   rises. A dense pale mist flows out, spilling over the
   edges of the capsule, revealing the ovoid of a gray
   Alien egg. Rooted in the center of Bishop's synthetic
   entrails, the egg instantly ejaculates a Face-hugger,
   which strikes the leader's faceplate in a spray of
   acid. He screams, blinded by the acid, grappling with
   the thing as it begins to force its way into his
   helmet, its tail lashing furiously. Clawing at it, he
   plunges blindly back down the aisle, stumbling,
   smashing into the empty capsules. He vanishes through
   the entranceway, his screams giving way to frenzied
   gagging SOUNDS.
   
   The First Commando scrambles after him.
   
   
   INT. CARGO LOCK
   
   The Leader writhes on the deck beside the main cargo
   lock. First Commando rushes in, crouches beside him,
   takes careful two-handed aim with her sidearm - she
   FIRES, attempting to kill the face-hugger without
   hitting the Leader. The face-hugger EXPLODES in a gout
   of acid; ragged holes burn through the side of his
   helmet. First Commando frantically works the lock
   controls.
   
   As the inner lock opens, she shoves the leader over the
   edge with her foot.
   
   
   EXT. SULACO
   
   Helmetless, headless, trailing a cloud of blood and
   acid, the Leader tumbles through space.
   
   
   INT. CARGO LOCK
   
   Eyes of the First Commando through her faceplate. Beat.
   Something moves, behind her. She spins, bringing up her
   gun. Backlit in the entrance to the vault, a black,
   multi-armed figure. The beam from her lamp finds it -
   the Second Commando, with Bishop in his arms.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   IN DEEP SPACE - VARIOUS ANGLES
   
   A station the size of a small moon, and growing;
   unfinished sections of hull are open to vacuum. A vast,
   irregular structure, the result of the shifting goals
   of successive administrations.
   
   MOVE IN on hundreds of windows - most of them dark. A
   light comes on in one of the windows.
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - TULLY'S SLEEPING CUBICLE
   
   A phone is RINGING. The cubicle, terminally sloppy,
   resembles the nest of a high-tech hamster, not much
   larger than a berth of a train. The walls are plastered
   with a wistful collage of posters, ads, photos torn
   from magazines: beaches, desert, the Grand Canyon,
   redwoods, blue sky - a hedge against claustrophobia and
   the emptiness of space.
   
   TULLY, sitting up in bed, knuckling sleep from his
   eyes, wincing at the light; he slaps the phone console
   and the glum face of OPERATIONS OFFICER JACKSON
   (female) appears. She wears a nylon baseball cap with a
   computer light-pen attached to the bill.
   
                       JACKSON
             'Morning, Tully.
   
                       TULLY
             Morning? Jesus, Jackson, it's the
             middle of my downtime...
   
   
   CLOSE ON THE CONSOLE SCREEN
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   The room behind Jackson is Achorpoint's nerve-center,
   the Ops Room.
   
                       JACKSON
             None of us up here in the Ops Room
             have seen downtime for a while,
             Tully. A Marine transport came in
             on automatic sixteen hours ago.
   
   She bobs her head as she speaks, using the pen on her
   cap to move a cursor on a screen in front of her.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             The Sulaco. Departed gateway four
             years ago with a compliment of
             fifteen. A dozen marines, an
             android, a company representative,
             and the former warrant officer of a
             merchant vessel...
   
                       TULLY
             So?
   
                       JACKSON
             So, the bio-readout gives us the
             warrant officer, one - count him -
             marine, and a nine-year-old girl.
             Makes you wonder what happened out
             there, doesn't it?
   
                       TULLY
             So ask 'em. Wake 'em up and ask
             'em. Them, not me.
   
                       JACKSON
             But that's the good news, Tully.
             Three hours before Sulaco turned
             up, we docked a priority shuttle
             out of Gateway. Two passengers.
             Milisci, Tully. Weapons Division.
   
                       TULLY
             That the bad news?
   
                       JACKSON
             They want the ship pulled in, with
             full biohazard precautions, by oh-
             eight-hundred hours. BioLab techs
             are priority for the deck squad.
             That's you Tully.
   
   The phone screen goes blank.
   
                       TULLY
                   (heartfelt)
             Shit.
   
   He begins to fumble through his sleeping bag, looking
   for his clothes - disturbing SPENCE, a young
   technician, who sits up groggily, hugging the bag to
   her breasts.
   
                       SPENCE
             What? What is it?
   
                       TULLY
             It's called the military-industrial
             complex; it's called my ass out of
             bed; it's called jerking me
             around... Any way you wanna call
             it, it's the same bullshit...
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR
   
   Tully, groggy and irritated, emerges from his cubicle,
   wearing a battered leather flight jacket, its sleeves
   plastered with embroidered logo-patches for various
   products. His photo, name, job description, and number
   are slotted on the door in a transparent envelope -
   TULLY, CHARLES A. TECH-5, TISSUE CULTURE LAB.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - DRY DOCK
   
   A plain of gray steel, the size of several carrier
   decks, walls lost in dark and distance. Service
   vehicles lumber past in the b.g. Massive floods on
   towers of raw scaffolding backlight twenty waiting
   figures, the Deck Squad.
   
   Their spacesuits are white, clinical; over these they
   wear disposable Biohazard Envelopes of filmy
   translucent plastic. Some are Colonial Marines, armed
   with pulse-rifles or flame-throwers. Others are
   scientists and technicians, carrying recording and
   sampling gear. Their voice, over helmet-radio are
   furred with STATIC. Something CLANGS and BOOMS
   overhead, metal thunder.
   
                       OFFICER (V.O.)
             Deck Squad brace for pressure drop.
             She's in the cradle. She's coming
             in.
   
   A sudden WIND rushes across the deck, then dies. RUMBLE
   overhead as a monstrous hanger door rolls slowly open,
   revealing the naked stars. The dark hull of Sulaco
   blots out the stars as it descends.
   
                       OFFICER (V.O.)
                   (continuing)
             Entry team to secondary cargo lock.
   
   A cherry-picker vehicle, with extended boom, WHINES up
   to Sulaco.
   
   The lock SIGHS open on darkness.
   
   BUZZ of static, indistinct RADIO exchanges, as a half-
   dozen lights play over the drop-ship, the walls of the
   lock. Tully enters, stares around, eyes wide through
   his faceplate. Beside his is a MARINE with a pulse-
   rifle - obviously psyched for combat.
   
                       TULLY
             Lights, how come they got no
             lights?
   
                       MARINE
             Hey, man...
   
   He shines his light on a blackened scar on the
   bulkhead.
   
                       MARINE
                   (continuing)
             Lookit that. Been some action in
             here...
   
                       TULLY
             Action?
   
                       MARINE
             Man, what the fuck you supposed to
             be doing here?
   
                       TULLY
             Forging a new home for mankind in
             the depths of space.
   
   The Marine isn't amused. Tully raises an instrument; it
   makes a SUCKING noise.
   
                       TULLY
                   (continuing)
             Collecting atmosphere samples.
   
                       MARINE
             So just do it, right.
   
   He move away.
   
                       TULLY
             Sure.
   
   But he doesn't want to be alone; hustles after the
   Marine.
   
                       OFFICER (V.O.)
             Technician Tully to the hypersleep
             vault, atmosphere sample...
   
                       MARINE
             Sounds like you.
   
                       TULLY
             Yeah.
   
                       MARINE
             Let's not keep the man waiting.
   
   
   INT. ENTERANCE TO HYPERSLEEP VAULT
   
   The Marine OFFICER holds up a tracker - one of the
   small motion-sensors familiar from the previous film.
   Beside him are TWO MORE MARINES. The Officer raises the
   tracker and scans the face of the door.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP
   
   Of tracker screen: zero.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
                       OFFICER
             One sample, here.
   
   SOUND of Tully's device sucking air.
   
                       OFFICER
                   (continuing)
             Get another on the way in. Have
             they patched line in yet?
   
                       SECOND MARINE
             Yessir. Lights on in there.
   
   The Officer presses a button.
   
   The door slides open. Bright, white. The aisle. Empty.
   The row of capsules. Tully's Marine is first through
   the door, gun ready, slow, careful. Tully steps in
   after him, raises his instrument, takes a sample.
   
   
   INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT
   
   The other two Marines move past Tully. Soft SCUFF of
   their boots on the deck. Tully doesn't know quite what
   to do. Lowers his sampler, hesitates. The first Marine
   reaches Newt's capsule. He lowers his rifle.
   
                       MARINE
                   (something startled,
                   almost gentle in his
                   voice)
             They're here...
   
   Eight inches of razor-sharp serrated tail plunges out
   through the back of his suit as he's lifted off his
   feet by something we can't see. Ugly RIPPING noise as
   the ALIEN withdraws its stinger - blood tidily
   contained by the translucent membrane of the biohazard
   envelope.
   
   The stinger of a second Alien whips around the neck of
   one of the other two Marines; the Alien is clinging to
   the ceiling. He screams. Tully's Marine sags against
   the foot of Ripley's capsule, his arm across the
   controls - the green indicator lights go out - as the
   first Alien lunges up INTO VIEW.
   
   
   CLOSE
   
   On the jaws.
   
   
   ANGLE ON RIPLEY
   
   Her eyes snap open.
   
   
   RIPLEY'S POV
   
   As the beast mounts her coffin, terminal nightmare.
   
   ANGLE
   
                       RIPLEY
             No-ooooooooooooooooooooo!
   
   Her hands claw frantically at the smooth curve of the
   plastic canopy.
   
   The remaining Marine, crazy with adrenaline and terror,
   unleashes his flame thrower. The first Alien and
   Ripley's capsule vanish in a napalm fireball. The
   Marine spins, screaming incoherently, and liquid fire
   hoses the second Alien, which drops its victim and
   falls burning into the deck.
   
   The vault is an inferno. Ripley's capsule is sagging,
   melting.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   A SCORCHED HYPERSLEEP CAPSULE
   
   Is wheeled in under brilliant lamps. The waiting crisis
   team plug bio-monitor leads and a HISSING air-supply
   line into sockets on the capsule. A technician with a
   small hand-held power saw begins to cut away the heat-
   crazed canopy. Hands in surgical gloves lift the canopy
   away.
   
   Ripley lies curled in a tight fetal knot.
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - MEDLAB QUARANTINE
   
   A small white room, a white bed surrounded by medical
   gear. Hicks, in his underwear, is hunched on the edge
   of the bed, impatiently smoking a cigarette. The
   dressing on his head and shoulders have been changed.
   Spence enters. She wears a biohazard envelope over
   coveralls, bubble-goggles, a transparent filter-mask.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (lightly)
             You know you can't smoke in here?
   
                       HICKS
             Yes, ma'am.
   
   He takes a puff.
   
                       SPENCE
             I'm Spence. I'm not a medic, I'm
             from the tissue culture lab. I have
             to get a sample.
   
   She opens a small white case and takes out a gleaming
   cylinder.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             Uh, just stick your thumb in here.
   
   Hicks gives her a hard look, inserts his thumb; she
   touches a stud - SNIK! - he winces, look ruefully at
   his thumb.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             Sorry.
                   (putting the tissue-
                   sampler away)
             You're the last one...
   
                       HICKS
                   (grabs her wrist)
             The others. Ripley, Newt - they
             came through okay?
   
                       SPENCE
             Who's Newt?
   
                       HICKS
             The kid.
   
                       SPENCE
             Rebecca. Rebecca's fine.
   
                       HICKS
             Ripley?
   
                       SPENCE
                   (hesitates)
             Ripley's fine, Hicks.
   
                       HICKS
             Bishop. Where's Bishop?
   
                       SPENCE
                   (puzzled)
             Bishop?
   
                       HICKS
             The android.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (carefully, worried
                   that she's gotten in
                   over her head)
             There were three of you. Three that
             I know of, anyway. Maybe you should
             try to sleep now. You want the
             nurse? They can give you
             something...
   
                       HICKS
                   (leaning forward, still
                   gripping Spence's
                   wrists)
             Why haven't I been debriefed?
             Where's the brass?
   
                       SPENCE
             All I know is, we've all been
             sleeping short hours since your
             ship came in, soldier.
   
   A CRASH from the corridor, a pained BELLOW, and Newt
   scuttles in, wearing a hospital gown. She backs into a
   corner as a large ORDERLY rushes in, clutching his
   right hand. Like Spence, he wears biohazard gear.
   
                       ORDERLY
             Goddamn it! She bit me!
   
   He starts for Newt. Hicks comes off the bed like he's
   mounted on springs, hand cocked for a trained blow. The
   Orderly backs off.
   
                       NEWT
                   (near hysteria)
             Where's Ripley? Where is she?
   
                       HICKS
                   (straightens out of
                   hand-to-hand crouch
                   without losing any of
                   the threat)
             She's asking you a question.
   
                       ORDERLY
             You looking to get yourself
             sedated, Corporal?
   
                       NEWT
             Where is she?
   
                       HICKS
             Now I'm asking you the question...
   
   Spence yanks her mask down in a reflexive, very human
   gesture. Move slowly toward Newt, extending her hand.
   
                       SPENCE
             Rebecca... Newt. Honey. It's okay.
             Ripley's going to be okay. C'mon
             now, I'll take you, you can see
             her...
   
                       ORDERLY
             Spence, there's no way -
   
   He moves to stop them, but Hicks takes a very
   deliberate step forward.
   
   
   INT. MEDLAB - ANOTHER ROOM
   
   Ripley lies in a coma, monitored by assorted white
   consoles. Her forehead is taped with half a dozen small
   electrodes. Newt, expressionless, walks slowly to the
   bedside as Hicks and Spence look on.
   
                       SPENCE
             She's sleeping.
                   (she and Hicks exchange
                   glances)
             Sometimes people need to sleep...
             To get over things...
   
   Newt looks up at a monitor that display's Ripley's EEG.
   Watches the jitter of peaks and valleys.
   
                       NEWT
             Is Ripley dreaming?
   
                       SPENCE
             I don't know honey.
   
                       NEWT
             It's better not to.
   
   
   EXT. RODINA, THE U.P.P. STATION - VARIOUS ANGLES
   
   Smaller than Anchorpoint.
   
   
   INT. RODINA - CYBERNETICS LAB
   
   CLOSE on Bishop. He stares straight ahead, the corner
   of his mouth twitching mechanically. PULL BACK.
   Bishop's torso is mounted in the center of a large
   square platform; tubes are wires snake from his ruined
   lower ribcage. The walls of the labs are lined with
   monitor screens and printers.
   
   Information is being reamed out of the android at high
   speed, printouts of measurements, graphs, formulas.
   COLONEL-DOCTOR SUSLOV is beside the Vietnamese
   Commando, who wears a sleeveless fatigue-blouse
   revealing regimental tattoos: a yin-yang, hashmarks, an
   ID marker like a supermarket bar-code. They watch as a
   graphics program generates a detailed anatomical
   drawing of a face-hugger on a large monitor. She says
   something short and emphatic in Vietnamese, repeats it:
   yes.
   
                       SUSLOV
             And this?
   
   He taps a keypad and the face-hugger vanishes. The
   screen begins to draft an Alien in side and frontal
   projections.
   
                       FIRST COMMANDO
                   (eyes fixed on the
                   screen in horror and
                   fascination)
             No...
   
   On the slab, the robotic tic still works the corner of
   Bishop's mouth.
   
   
   INT. SULACO - CARGO LOCK
   
   Two TECHNICIANS in biohazard gear squat on either side
   of Bishop's legs. An electronic microscope has been set
   up on a low tripod. A small monitor displays magnified
   skin and a few dark gobules. One Technician extracts an
   ultra-fine probe from its sterile package and leans
   forward.
   
                       TECH WITH PROBE
             You getting tape of this, Miller?
   
                       SECOND TECH
             You bet your ass. Orders.
   
                       TECH WITH PROBE
             That's good because I'd swear I
             just saw a piece of this shit
             move...
   
   On the monitor, the tip of the probe trembles, brushes
   one of the globules.
   
   The Second Tech takes it, inserts it in a plastic tube,
   seals the tube in a small metal canisters, and writes
   #17 on the side in red grease pen.
   
                       SECOND TECH
             Since when do androids get
             diseases?
   
                       TECH WITH PROBE
             I dunno. Sure looks like something
             got to this poor bastard...
   
   
   INT. ROSETTI'S OFFICE CUBICLE
   
   COLONEL ROSETTI, Colonial Marines, is Anchorpoint's
   head of military operations. His office is furnished in
   the best futuro-Pentagon style: imitation rosewood,
   division insignia plaques, a desktop model of the drop
   ships from "Aliens."
   
   Rosetti glances up from his monitor as his SECRETARY
   enters, a young woman in semi-dress Marine uniform.
   
                       SECRETARY
                   (hands him a stiff red
                   plastic envelope)
             Welles and Fox, Colonel. Military
             Sciences, Weapons Division.
   
   Rosetti eyes the envelope with evident distaste,
   scrawls his signature in the required box before
   opening it, removes documents, and the empty envelope
   back.
   
                       ROSETTI
             Show them in.
   
   Secretary exits.
   
   
   ROSETTI'S POV - CLOSEUP
   
   Two plastic microfiche cards, each with front and side
   views of Fox and Welles, retinal I.D. images, scaled-
   down fingerprints, etc. Stamped "MILISCI, WEAPONS DIV."
   
                       FOX (O.S.)
             Kevin Fox, Colonel.
   
   
   ROSETTI'S POV - FOX
   
   Is tanned, athletic, hyperconfident, his smile a heart-
   less display of state-of-the-art enamel-bonding
   techniques. WELLES is just behind him.
   
                       WELLES
             Susan Welles.
   
   Same spa-tuned look, same expensive casualwear.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (flatly, with no other
                   effort at greeting)
             Welcome to Anchorpoint.
   
   Fox and Welles seat themselves without waiting to be
   asked.
   
                       FOX
             We're impressed, Colonel. Susan and
             I are definitely impressed.
   
                       WELLES
             The videos don't really give you an
             idea of the scale, do they?
   
   She might as well be talking about a tour of Notre
   Dame.
   
                       FOX
             But we're particularly impressed
             with your handling of the
             situation, the situation so far.
             We're impressed with you
             cooperation...
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (flicking the cards
                   down on his desktop
                   with suppressed
                   hostility)
             We call it "following orders."
   
                       WELLES
             Yes. It would simplify things if
             everyone did, wouldn't it?
             Particularly the civilian component
             of that Deck Squad. I think we may
             have a potential problem there...
   
                       FOX
             We've been going over psyche
             profiles, Colonel. Anchorpoint
             seems to be the kinds of project
             that attracts... idealists.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (with a thin grin)
             Liberals.
   
                       WELLES
             Let's just say we've noticed a
             certain antipathy to Military
             Sciences, Colonel. A certain lack
             of sympathy with the goals of the
             Weapons Division...
   
                       ROSETTI
             Anchorpoint is under Colonial
             Administration authority. This
             isn't a military operation. If it
             were, we'd be in violation of the
             Strategic Arms Reductions treaty.
   
                       FOX
             Looks great on paper, Colonel, but
             we want the civilians who boarded
             Sulaco sewn up. Tight.
   
                       WELLES
             Forfeit of shares, for starts.
             Anyone talks, they lose their
             shares. We've found it reasonably
             effective, in most cases...
   
                       FOX
                   (taking a sheaf of
                   printout from his
                   attach)
             But that's a simple matter. This
             isn't. Sulaco's data base indicates
             a boarding operation en route,
             Colonel.
   
                       ROSETTI
             A boarding operation? Why wasn't I
             informed?
   
                       WELLES
             We're informing you. You seem to
             have lost an android, Colonel. The
             Union of Progressive Peoples have
             Bishop...
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - ENTRANCE TO ANTI-BUGGING BUBBLE
   
   A MARINE ushers Hicks into a large bare chamber. Hicks
   wears his dress uniform. The room is dominated by the
   bubble, a mirrored sphere.
   
                       MARINE
             This way, Corporal.
   
   The Marine leads Hicks up a gangway. Hicks enters the
   bubble. The Marine closes the door behind him.
   
   
   INT. THE BUBBLE
   
   Three members (Rosetti, TRENT, SHUMAN) of Anchorpoint's
   directorate are seated at a round table; with them are
   Fox and Welles. Hicks comes to attention and salutes.
   
                       ROSETTI
             At ease, Hicks. Be seated. My name
             is Rosetti. Station's military
             attach. From my right: Trent,
             exobiology... Shuman, Diplomatic
             Corps... From your right...
   
                       FOX
             I'm Kevin Fox, Hicks. This is Susan
             Welles. We're with the Company.
             We'd like to congratulate you on a
             successful mission.
   
                       HICKS
             Successful? I lost my squad in that
             hole...
   
                       WELLES
             But you returned, Corporal. And
             you've rescued the colony's sole
             survivor...
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (picks up a sheaf of
                   printout)
             We've all read the transcript of
             you debriefing, Hicks...
   
                       HICKS
             Where's Bishop? Sir.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (blinks)
             If you don't mind, Hicks, we'll
             table that until -
   
                       TRENT
             I've read the transcript. Are you
             certain, Hicks, that you have
             nothing more to tell us about the
             alien's life cycle? Detail, Hicks.
             Detail is crucial...
   
                       ROSETTI
             Trent, the subject is classified.
             Corporal Hicks' security rating
             need to be upgraded before we can -
             
                       HICKS
                   (ignoring Rosetti, he
                   addresses Trent)
             I've already told you everything I
             know.
   
                       ROSETTI
             Hick -
   
                       FOX
             Let the Corporal have his say,
             Colonel. After all, he's seen these
             creatures in action.
   
                       ROSETTI
             You ordered the subject classified
             Maximum Security, Fox.
   
                       TRENT
             I seriously doubt the Corporal
             Hicks knows anything more than he's
             already told us. Which is a great
             pity. But the android, Bishop, was
             designed for scientific
             observation. A Hyperdyne model A/5,
             a walking data bank...
   
                       WELLES
             Corporal Hick asked the right
             questions to begin with.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (stiffly)
             To answer your question, Hicks: we
             aren't certain.
   
                       WELLES
                   (heavy sarcasm)
             But we can guess, can't we Colonel?
   
                       HICKS
                   (to Welles)
             Where?
   
                       FOX
             Rodina station.
   
                       HICKS
             The U.P.P.? What's the U.P.P. got
             to go with this?
   
                       ROSETTI
             Sulaco's navigation system failed.
             You were in disputed territory for
             something over eighty-five minutes,
             Hicks. The U.P.P. would ordinarily
             respond to that as a violation of
             their space. So far there's been no
             protest. Nothing.
                   (he hesitates)
             Sulaco's computer indicates a
             covert boarding operation...
   
                       FOX
             "Indicates"...
   
                       SHUMAN
             To put it in diplomatic terms,
             Hicks, they've got our ass in a
             sling. If they want to regard the
             Sulaco incident as a hostile act -
             and let me assure you that they
             will, eventually - they can
             compromise our position in the
             current round of arms reduction
             talks. We're talking serious
             ramifications here. Then we have
             the communications lag to and from
             Earth. A week either way. So we're
             looking at a fourteen day wait for
             policy clarification. We may have a
             major crisis on our hands.
   
                       WELLES
             We arrived with a policy brief,
             Shuman, and you've seen it. We're
             here to implement that brief.
   
                       ROSETTI
             And you orders predate knowledge of
             U.P.P. involvement.
   
                       FOX
             We're here to do our job, Colonel.
   
                       SHUMAN
             In this case, "doing your job"
             might involve the distinct
             possibility of precipitating
             nuclear war -
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (quick to break in; the
                   subject's too sensitive
                   for enlisted ears)
             Any further questions for the
             Corporal? No? In that case,
             Hicks...
   
                       HICKS
             Sir.
   
   Hicks stands, salutes.
   
   
   INT. ACHORPOINT - R & R ZONE, "THE MALL"
   
   Tully slopes along looking haggard and spaced. He wears
   his trademark jacket. The Mall is a cross between a
   Hyatt atrium and an airport shopping concourse: shops,
   vegetation, fast food outlets, a bar. He arrives at
   what are apparently elevator doors. The doors open on a
   miniature subway car.
   
   Tully steps in and the doors close.
   
   
   INT. TISSUE CULTURE LAB
   
   Spence is working with cultures. Her arms are up to the
   elbows in a pair of white gloves mounted in round
   openings on the side of a transparent plastic tank. She
   looks up as Tully enters.
   
                       TULLY
             Hey.
   
                       SPENCE
             You look like homemade shit.
                   (she withdraws her
                   hands, the gloves pop
                   out)
             What happened down there, Tully?
             There's some kind of security
             blackout on...
   
                       TULLY
             Yeah. And I'm part of it... I can't
             tell you anything. Had to sign a
             whole new set of papers. Talk to
             anybody and I lose my shares. All
             my shares, right?
   
                       SPENCE
             You joking, Tully?
   
                       TULLY
             Wish I were...
                   (changes the subject)
             What's the old man got for me to
             dick around with this shift?
   
   She crosses to a lab bench and takes something from a
   white wire basket.
   
                       SPENCE
             Here. All yours. Orders are, you
             use the manipulators for this.
   
   She hands him something wrapped in a sheet of white
   printout held with a rubber band. He removes the band,
   unrolls the paper. The canister. Number 17.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             What the hell did happen on the
             ship, Tully? How come all the
             biopsy work on those three? And his
             very quiet sudden backlog of
             autopsy material? How come it's all
             triple-classified? What's going on?
             We had these two spooks from
             Gateway in here today acted like
             they just bought the place...
   
                       TULLY
                   (with a nervous glance
                   around the lab)
             Okay, okay... But later, okay? Not
             here...
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. TISSUE CULTURE LAB
   
   Tully at the controls of a pair of high-tech servo-
   manipulators visible through the tick glass of an ultra-
   heavy duty rectangular tank. The controls are gloves. A
   cable leads from the wrist of each glove to the face of
   the tanks. Tully move his hands, testing. The skeletal
   steels waldos inside the tank mimic each move. He uses
   them to open the canister. An electronic microscope is
   built into the tank, its monitor just above the window.
   He positions the probe's tip under the microscope.
   
   
   ANGLE OVER TOP OF MONITOR
   
   For his reaction.
   
                       TULLY
             Spence... What is this? Where did
             it come from?
   
   Spence strolls up behind his with a cup of coffee, a
   pen tucked behind her ear.
   
                       SPENCE
             C'mon, Charlie, don't you read the
             spec sheets anymore? It's off the
             shop. Off your transport. It's...
             God.
   
   
   SPENCE'S POV - CLOSE ON THE MONITOR
   
   The tip of the probe is encased in a sheath of
   glittering back filigree.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
                       SPENCE
             Up the rez...
   
   Tully taps a lapboard; magnifications increases by
   twenty powers.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP - MONITOR
   
   As the screen fills with an image that might be a
   bizarre landscape, its lines and textures recalling the
   interior of the derelict ship in "Alien."
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. ECO-MODULE
   
   An experimental pocket Eden: a half-acre of artfully
   ragged concrete Disneyland into lush rainforest, sun-
   dappled miniature meadows, patches of African cactus.
   Newt crouches in long grass, her hand extended toward a
   small animal. A lemur. Hicks stands nearby.
   
                       NEWT
             Have you been there, Hicks? Africa?
   
                       HICKS
             Morocco. Four weeks of Basic. But
             was mountains. Not like this.
   
   The lemur scoots away, spooked by his voice; Newt
   watches as it scurries up a tree.
   
                       NEWT
             I'd like to go there...
   
                       HICKS
             No problem. You're going to Gateway
             station on Sulaco, right? Then you
             catch a shuttle down and you're in
             Oregon. Just a jump over a puddle,
             to Africa, once you're there.
   
   Spence walks out of the miniature jungle, carrying a
   white wire tray of samples in plastic lab bottles.
   
                       NEWT
             I don't remember them...
   
                       SPENCE
             Your grandparents?
   
   Newt nods.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             Well, guess they remember you.
             Sure.
   
                       NEWT
             But what if Ripley wakes up and I'm
             not here? Can't I wait?
   
                       HICKS
             Hey. She'll know where you're
             going, right? Anyway, Sulaco's the
             only ship back to Gateway for two
             months. But look, you want to make
             double sure, then you leave her a
             map, exactly where you're going...
   
   Spence grins at Hicks.
   
   
   INT. NEWT'S DORM CUBICLE
   
   Newt at a fold-down desk, at work on an elaborate
   multicolor feltpen starmap. A dotted line zigzags from
   Anchorpoint to Portland, Oregon. She carefully prints
   her new address:
   
   "NEWT JORDEN
   c/o
   MR. & MRS. RICHARD JORDEN
   34877 GREENLEAF AVE. #582
   NEW PORTLAND, OREGON AB994J2"
   
   Ripley wan and comatose. Hicks waits awkwardly in the
   doorway, dangling Newt's knapsack, as she enters and
   tapes the finished starmap to the wall; the first thing
   Ripley would see, waking. Newt beside the bed, look
   down at her friend.
   
                       NEWT
             Ripley? Ripley, it's Newt. I... I
             gotta go now. I'm going to stay
             with my grandparents, in Oregon.
             Hicks says that's a good place...
             There's a map for you, Ripley, how
             to get there. You can come there
             and stay with me, okay? You have
             to, okay?
   
   Tears on her cheeks as Hicks puts his hand on her
   shoulder and they leave the room.
   
   
   INT. DEPARTURE BAY
   
   Newt and Hicks amid a bustle of power-loaders, assorted
   robot vehicles. They approach the entrance to a narrow
   corridor. Sign: "DEPARTURE BAY - CREW ONLY BEYOND THIS
   POINT"
   
                       HICKS
             That's you.
   
                       NEWT
             I know.
   
                       HICKS
             Good luck in Oregon.
   
   He holds the red knapsack as she slips into the straps.
   
                       NEWT
             Hicks...
   
                       HICKS
             Yeah?
   
   She look at him: ghost of a grin. She gives him the
   thumbs-up sign.
   
                       NEWT
             Affirmative.
   
   He returns the sign
   
                       HICKS
             Affirmative.
   
   She turns and makes her way up the narrow boarding
   corridor. It's long, tapers to nothing. Tiny figure,
   receding, bright dot of the knapsack. She turns, waves.
   He waves back. She's gone.
   
   
   EXT. ANCHORPOINT
   
   Sulaco pulls away, begins to accelerate, dwindles
   against the stars.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. RODINA - CONFERENCE CHAMBER
   
   Cigarette-smoke drifts above a long narrow table in a
   narrow space. A half-dozen ranking TECHNOCRATS are
   jammed along wither side in folding chairs, with
   Colonel-Doctor Suslov at the head.
   
                       BRAUN
                   (Rodina's chief of R&D)
             Obviously, Colonel Doctor, the
             purpose of their mission was to
             obtain specimens of this lifeform.
             The android dissected a single
             specimen. One of the pre-larval
             forms - like the thing that killed
             Lenko.
   
                       AN OFFICER
             And you believe that these creature
             are of potential military
             importance?
   
                       BRAUN
             Yes, provided it's possible to
             clone the alien spores recovered
             from the android's skin and
             clothing...
   
                       SUSLOV
             With the goal of programming these
             "machines" for use as weapons?
   
                       BRAUN
             The adult form, Colonel-Doctor, is
             evidently a killing-machine of
             great strength, extraordinary
             sophistication. No evidence of
             intelligence. Purely instinctual.
   
                       INTELLIGENCE OFFICER
             Our sources in the corporationist
             infrastructure are aware of the
             existence of a special project with
             Weyland-Yutani's Weapons Division.
             We have been unable to penetrate
             their security...
   
                       SUSLOV
             The Intelligence Officer suggests
             that this special project concerns
             the alien?
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             I remind you, Colonel-Doctor, that
             we experiment with the alien
             genetic material only if we are
             prepared to violate primary
             biological warfare limitations in
             the Strategic Arms Reduction
             treaty...
   
                       BRAUN
             An I reminds the Diplomatic Officer
             that the Weyland Yutani corporation
             is obviously prepared to do so -
             that they may already be doing
             so... As ever, our level of
             technology lags slightly behind
             that of the capitalist cartels...
             But now, by chance -
   
                       MILITARY OFFICER
             By chance? You refer to the proven
             bravery and constant initiative of
             our People's Commando Division -
   
                       BRAUN
                   (smoothly, a seasoned
                   political infighter
                   covering his bases)
             Not at all, Major. Their courage is
             unquestioned. Nonetheless,
             consider: we are in possession of a
             potential weapon - a whole new
             technology, if you will - which
             Weyland Yutani clearly intends to
             develop. We are in, as they might
             put it, on the ground floor. But
             only if we choose to be, if we
             choose to hold our advantage.
   
                       SUSLOV
             I agree. We have no choice but to
             proceed.
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             Then I go on record as strongly
             advising that the android be
             returned to Anchorpoint. Are our
             technicians capable of repairing
             the thing?
   
                       BRAUN
             Repairing it? Why?
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             You lack a sense of the importance
             of gesture, Braun. Let us avoid
             their customary accusations of
             barbarism... And buy ourselves
             time...
   
                       SUSLOV
             Our technicians will repair the
             thing. Return it to them... And we
             will proceed. We will clone the
             alien...
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - TISSUE CULTURE LAB
   
   TRENT, head of BioLab, Rosetti, and Fox wait, seated,
   as Tully wheels a Holographic Display Module into
   position. The lights dim. A faint, ghostly cube
   shimmers in front of the three men.
   
                       TRENT
             Initially this was merely routine,
             you understand. We attempted to
             determine its compatibility with
             terrestrial DNA.
   
                       FOX
             What kind of DNA exactly, Doctor?
   
                       TRENT
             Human, of course.
   
   Something shivers and shakes and takes form in the cube
   of light: a double helix threaded with green and red
   beads of light.
   
                       TRENT
                   (continuing)
             Watch closely, please.
   
   The alien genetic material looks like a cubist's vision
   of an art deco staircase, its asymmetrical segments
   glowing Day-glo green and purple.
   
                       ROSETTI
             That's a biological structure? More
             like part of a machine...
   
   The alien form makes contact with the human DNA. The
   transformation is shockingly swift, but its stages can
   still be followed: the thing seems to pull itself into
   and through the coils, and for an instant the two are
   meshed, locked, and then the final stage. A new shape
   glows, a hybrid; the green and red beads have been
   altered beyond recognition.
   
                       FOX
             Like a high-speed viral
             takeover...! What's the real-time
             duration on this, Trent?
   
                       TULLY
                   (from the shadows
                   beyond the glowing
                   cube)
             That was it. What you see is what
             you get. That's how fast it is...
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - MACHINE SHOP
   
   Hicks enters the cavernous shop, dodging out of the way
   of an emerging power-loader. The place is an oily
   forest of steel; machines of various kinds await
   repair. WALKER is at a workbench, a big man in a grease-
   stained vest.
   
                       HICKS
             Hicks. Temporary duty assignment.
   
   Walker works the joystick on a handheld remote control
   unit. An unmanned power-loader comes to life and
   lumbers toward the bench. He brings it to a halt
   expertly, exactly where he wants it, with few casual
   twiddles of the stick.
   
                       WALKER
             Walker. Know how to blow out the
             hydraulic lines on a force-feedback
             system?
   
                       HICKS
             No.
   
                       WALKER
             Never too late to learn.
   
   He offers Hicks a cigarette, lights it for him with a
   micro-torch from the bench.
   
                       WALKER
                   (continuing)
             You off the mystery ship, Hicks?
   
                       HICKS
             Sulaco? What's the mystery?
   
                       WALKER
                   (lighting his own
                   cigarette)
             Popular question. Whole thing's
             triple-classified now and word's
             getting around that two of the deck
             party never came back.
   
                       HICKS
                   (shrugs)
             I was iced.
   
                       WALKER
             Sure...
   
                       HICKS
             You ready to show me his feedback
             system?
   
                       WALKER
                   (eyes Hicks narrowly)
             Anytime.
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   PAN along Jackson's multi-screen array in Operations,
   video images of various Anchorpoint locales: space-
   suited figure and robot welders making routine hull
   repairs.
   
   
   HIGH ANGLE - THE MALL
   
   A buzzer SOUNDS. Screen directly in front of Jackson
   displays:
   
   "INCOMING TRANSMISSION
   SOURCE: U.P.P. RODINA
   DIPLOMATIC INCRYPT>>>
   >>>DIPL CORPS SHUMAN"
   
   Jackson bobs her head, moving the cursor-cap to various
   "windows" on the screen.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (speaking into headset
                   mike)
             Somebody find me Shuman - tell his
             we got incoming Rodina coded
             standard diplomatic. His opposite
             number must've decided it's time
             for the weekly bullshit session...
   
   
   INT. ANTI-BUGGING BUBBLE
   
   Shuman is seated alone at the round table. A miniature
   video camera is set up on the table. Opposite him is a
   large wall screen displaying an image of the U.P.P.
   Diplomatic Officer, also alone, seated at the far end
   of the narrow table in the Rodina conference room.
   
                       SHUMAN
             Androids, by law, are afforded the
             status of persons. Citizens.
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             Under your system, yes. We prefer
             to afford them the status of
             machines.
   
                       SHUMAN
             You're holding one of our citizens
             captive.
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             The "citizen" in question, the
             synthetic, Bishop, has been held in
             regard to a treaty violation
             involving an armed vessel.
   
                       SHUMAN
             Sulaco was homing on Anchorpoint.
             The so-called violation was the
             result of a malfunction.
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             The matter is under investigation.
   
                       SHUMAN
             I repeat: you are holding one of
             our citizens.
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             The incident is also being
             investigated with regards to an
             apparent violations of the
             Strategic Arms Reductions treaty.
   
                       SHUMAN
             Sulaco's weapons-systems fall
             entirely within the prescribed -
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             I refer to those sections of the
             treaty concerned with biological
             warfare.
   
   Beat. The U.P.P. Diplomat has just scored, but Shuman
   maintains his poise.
   
                       SHUMAN
             The allegation is false.
   
                       DIPLOMATIC OFFICER
             We make no official allegations at
             this time. The matter remains under
             investigation. Bishop, however, is
             of no further use in the inquiry.
             
   We are returning him to you.
   
   
   EXT. ANCHORPOINT - SHUTTLE BAY - A U.P.P. SHUTTLE
   
   Docking. They bay closes behind it. (V.O.: STATIC,
   VOICES of Anchorpoint docking crew.)
   
   
   INT. SHUTTLE BAY
   
   Shuman and two Marines enter the bay. They wear
   biohazard envelopes, masks. The shuttle's hatch opens
   and the Vietnamese Commando steps out. Bishop emerges.
   He looks at the Commando, then at Shuman and the
   Marines waiting at the bottom of the gangway. The
   Commando gestures: go.
   
                       SHUMAN
             You're under quarantine orders,
             Bishop.
                   (to the Marines)
             Escort him to MedLab.
   
   
   INT. THE MALL
   
   Hicks has just come off shift; the Mall's bar catches
   his eye. The facade says it all: ye olde pre-packaged
   genuine simulated wood-grain generic tavern and the
   only joint in town.
   
   One wall is a screen showing a stale rerun of a
   Brazilian soccer match. Some of the customers play
   hologram game-consoles. Tully is seated at the bar.
   Hicks takes a stool beside him.
   
                       HICKS
             Beer.
   
   He fishes his dog tags out and detaches one, passes it
   to the bartender; the bartender inserts it in a
   terminal, rings up the beer, hands it back.
   
                       TULLY
             You're Hicks. Sulaco...
   
   Tully, in his trademark jacket, is obviously drunk.
   
                       HICKS
             Who're you?
   
                       TULLY
             Tully. Tech Five. Tissue lab. D-
             fucking-NA. Jesus... Sulaco...
             Lucky.
   
                       HICKS
             Lucky? Who? You lucky, man?
   
                       TULLY
             You. You're one lucky sonofabitch,
             Hicks.
   
   Knocks back his drink.
   
                       HICKS
             How's that?
   
                       TULLY
             All that way. All the way back here
             with those... Those fucking things,
             man...
   
   Tully has just gotten his sudden, undivided attention.
   
                       HICKS
             Things? What things?
   
                       TULLY
             Shit... We had to sign. All of us.
             Lose our fucking shares we tell
             anybody, right?
   
                       HICKS
                   (his whole body tense)
             They were on the ship...
   
                       TULLY
             Yeah. Jesus. I saw 'em...
   
   Reaches for his glass, but it's empty.
   
                       HICKS
             Where? How many? When?
   
                       TULLY
                   (suddenly remembering
                   his shares)
             Look, I...
                   (cuts a glance around
                   the bar)
             Bad place to talk... I gotta go
             now, leave...
   
                       HICKS
                   (grabbing Tully before
                   he can slide off the
                   stool)
             You aren't going anywhere, buddy.
   
   Tully, sudden energy, not so much at Hicks as at his
   whole situation:
   
                       TULLY
             I didn't come out here to work on
             shit like that. Came out here to
             help design ecosystems, not build
             designer for the next year... You
             want an earful? You got it. Shift
             after next, place called DP-54,
             Level 7 map. Can't talk here...
   
   He twists out of Hick's grip and into the crowd.
   
   Hicks sits at the bar, staring at his untouched beer.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. THE BUBBLE
   
   Rosetti, Trent, Fox, and Welles.
   
                       WELLES
             And Bishop has agreed to undergo
             complete physical and chemical
             analysis?
   
                       ROSETTI
             He requested it himself.
   
                       FOX
             Results?
   
                       TRENT
             No irregularities so far. No trace
             of the alien cellular material...
   
                       WELLES
             Tampering, then? Reprogramming? Any
             new circuits in our Mr. Bishop? Any
             little surprises courtesy of the
             U.P.P.?
   
                       TRENT
             No. Nothing.
   
                       FOX
             And his data on the Aliens? All
             there? Intact?
   
                       TRENT
             Yes, it seems to be. But if his
             memory's been tampered with, we'd
             have no way of knowing. Neither
             would he...
   
                       WELLES
             In any case, we have to assume that
             the U.P.P. accessed Bishop's
             memory. That they have the data.
             They may also have specimens of the
             alien genetic material...
   
                       ROSETTI
             In other words, you want to get on
             with your brief, don't you? You
             want Trent to clone the cultures.
             And you didn't want Shuman at this
             meeting.
   
                       FOX
             This isn't a question of diplomacy,
             Colonel Rosetti.
   
                       ROSETTI
             Isn't it? A violation of the S.A.R.
             treaty?
   
                       FOX
             Has anyone mentioned military
             applications, Colonel? Trent?
   
                       TRENT
                   (smiles)
             No. I think a very nice case can be
             made for applied exobiology. We do
             have a standing order to study
             alien life-forms when we encounter
             them. Preliminary analysis of the
             material from Sulaco reveals a
             remarkable adaptive capacity. The
             potential for cancer research
             alone...
   
                       WELLES
             Imagine, Colonel: if it can be
             programmed to only kill cancer
             cells...
   
                       ROSETTI
             And what exactly is it you propose
             to do, Trent?
   
                       FOX
                   (before Trent can
                   answer)
             We'll nourish the cells is stasis
             tubes, under constant observation.
             We'll terminate them before they
             become embryos...
   
                       ROSETTI
             I see. Cancer research. And our
             motives are exclusively
             humanitarian. Is that it?
   
                       WELLES
             Colonel, when Shuman gets his reply
             from Earth, priority will go to
             military development of the Alien.
             We know that because we know where
             our orders came from. The decision
             has already been made.
   
                       FOX
             And potential U.P.P. research in
             the same direction only adds to the
             urgency, Colonel.
   
                       ROSETTI
             The decision rests with me.
   
                       WELLES
             Perhaps you misunderstood, Rosetti.
             The decision has been made.
   
                       FOX
             They won't just break you, Colonel,
             they'll see to it that it's as
             though your career never happened.
             They're top people. That can do
             that. And you know it.
   
   Rosetti, with a long, cold look for both of them; he
   got the message:
   
                       ROSETTI
             Shuman, of course, will have to be
             informed.
   
                       FOX
             Of course. "Cancer research"...
   
   
   INT. MEDLAB - SCAN UNIT
   
   Bishop patiently undergoes a scan; he lies on his back
   on a narrow support as a massive donut-shaped sensor
   moves down the length of his body. A life-size color
   scan-image is displayed on a large screen: his
   "organs."
   
                       TECHNICIAN
             The knees. Looks like they do the
             joints in polycarbon...
   
                       MEDIC
             How about it, Bishop? Knees okay?
   
                       BISHOP
             Yes...
   
   Tentative smile.
   
                       TECHNICIANS
             Polycarbon. Won't hold up worth a
             damn...
   
   
   INT. RODINA - BIOLAB
   
   Smaller than the Anchorpoint lab. Equipment look less
   advanced. The only light is the yellowish glow from a
   stasis tube; Braun and two assistants are clustered
   around the tube, observing the thing suspended there:
   thumb-sized, grayish-pink. An embryo.
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - A TUNNEL AT THE EDGE OF THE
   CONSTRUCTION ZONE
   
   Hicks jogs through the tunnel. Its brightly-lit arc of
   white ceramic recalls London tube stations, but the
   floor is paved smooth and black, with freshly-painted
   traffic symbols. He passes a woman jogging in the
   opposite direction, keeps going. Small video cameras
   are mounted at intervals overhead, panning slowly form
   side to side. As he continues, less of the tunnel is
   finished; sections of tile are missing, revealing
   pipes, wiring, structural steel. Past a certain point
   he's jogging the raw steel tube, splashing through
   shallow puddles of condensation. Fewer lights, widely
   spaced. He reaches a junction and pauses, chooses a
   tunnel.
   
   
   INT. CONSTRUCTION ZONE CHAMBER - HIGH, LONG SHOT -
   HICKS
   
   Comes out of the lit mouth of a tunnel. The space he
   enters is the size of a football stadium, but dark and
   industrially Gothic. Stacks of hull-plate and geodesic
   struts. A shower of sparks as he passes a robot welder
   (a la the machine in the opening sequence of "Aliens").
   Down the aisle of material and heavy machinery. Spence
   is waiting.
   
                       SPENCE
             Hicks.
   
   She's in the shadows, smoking a cigarette.
   
                       HICKS
             You, huh? Why you?
   
                       SPENCE
             I work in the lab with Tully. He
             couldn't make it.
   
                       HICKS
             Hangover?
   
                       SPENCE
             Sacred... That forfeit agreement he
             had to sign.
   
                       HICKS
             Doesn't scare you?
   
                       SPENCE
             I haven't signed. Not yet. They've
             only given them to the ones who saw
             what happened.
   
                       HICKS
             Why you?
   
                       SPENCE
             Tully's okay, Hicks. I know him.
             Believe it or not, he doesn't scare
             that easy. He told me what was on
             that ship, Hicks. What he saw. You
             know what is was.
   
                       HICKS
             I don't think anybody knows what it
             is...
   
                       SPENCE
             They've got us growing the stuff.
             We've been running recombinant DNA
             routines on it, using human genetic
             material...
   
                       HICKS
             You've been what?
   
                       SPENCE
                   (stubbing out her
                   cigarette)
             Cancer research. Tully says that's
             just a cover. Says it's like trying
             to cure cancer with a shotgun.
             Anyway, everybody know those two
             spooks from Gateway are MiliSci...
   
                       HICKS
             Fox and Welles?
   
                       SPENCE
             Weapons Division. Not even supposed
             to exist, these days. Not
             officially, anyway.
   
                       HICKS
                   (lights a cigarette of
                   his own)
             I still don't see why you're
             telling me this.
   
                       SPENCE
             Maybe I don't either. It's just...
             we've got to tell somebody... Now
             there's a rumor somebody came in on
             a U.P.P. ship today, somebody off
             Sulaco...
   
                       HICKS
             Bishop...
   
                       SPENCE
             I don't know.
   
                       HICKS
             Maybe Progressive Peoples'll get
             their own Alien too. Maybe they'll
             grow some...
   
                       SPENCE
                   (horrified)
             Shit! You'd better hope not...
   
                       HICKS
             Why's that?
   
                       SPENCE
             Their lab gear's five years behind
             ours. They'd never be able to
             control it.
   
                       HICKS
             Think you can, huh?
   
                       SPENCE
             I don't know...
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   A BLEEP as Tully appears on one of Jackson's screens,
   looking up at a camera in the tissue culture lab.
   
                       TULLY
             Get me some maintenance people down
             here, will ya? Run a check on the
             stasis system. Pressure
             differential's off and the read
             keep fluctuating. And punch it
             Priority One; Trent'll cover it.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (with a characteristic
                   little jerk of her
                   head, light-pen
                   winking)
             Sure. You want a piece of the
             Superbowl, Tully?
   
                       TULLY
             Nah.
   
                       JACKSON
             Denver...
   
                       TULLY
             Denver? No way. Gimme a tenth on
             Chicago.
   
   
   INT. RODINA - BIOLAB
   
   Braun is seated at a computer, entering data. Suslov is
   staring into the stasis tube containing the developing
   Alien.
   
                       SUSLOV
             There's an irony in this...
   
                       BRAUN
                   (engrossed in the data)
             Irony, Colonel-Doctor?
   
                       SUSLOV
             The readiness with which it lends
             itself to genetic manipulation,
             Braun. The speed with which its
             cells multiply.
   
                       BRAUN
             Yes. Remarkable.
   
                       SUSLOV
             As though the gene-structure had
             been designed for ease of
             manipulation. And this apparently
             universal compatibility with other
             plasms...
   
                       BRAUN
                   (reluctantly abandoning
                   his task)
             And you find this ironic?
   
                       SUSLOV
             Ironic that we are attempting to
             program it as a weapon, yes.
   
                       BRAUN
             How is that?
   
                       SUSLOV
             Perhaps it is the fruit of some
             ancient experiment... A living
             artifact, the product of genetic
             engineering... A weapon. Perhaps we
             are looking at the end result of
             yet another arms race...
   
                       BRAUN
             A defeatist attitude, Colonel-
             Doctor. Our project can only
             strengthen the Union of Progressive
             Peoples...
   
   
   CLOSE - THE STASIS TUBE - A CHEST-BURSTER
   
   Is suspended there like an eyeless fetal dolphin.
   
   
   INT. MACHINE SHOP
   
   Hicks, alone in the shop, mechanically going through
   the motions of the busywork he's been assigned to keep
   him out of the way.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (from the doorway)
             That's quite a piece of machinery,
             Corporal Hicks...
   
                       HICKS
                   (looking up, grinning)
             That's what we used to say about
             you. How the hell are you, Bishop?
             Brass said you were snatched by the
             U.P.P. How're things in the
             socialist paradise?
   
                       BISHOP
             I was returned. I assume they had
             no further use for me.
   
   He moves among the silent machines, touching them as he
   speaks.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (continuing)
             There are rumors, Hicks, that
             Weapons Division intends to develop
             the Alien.
   
                       HICKS
                   (with a glance at the
                   video camera on the
                   wall)
             Where'd the bastards get one,
             Bishop?
   
                       BISHOP
             One of them managed to board
             Sulaco, Hicks. Ripley killed it...
   
                       HICKS
             Good for her.
   
                       BISHOP
             She called it "the queen."  It was
             larger than the others. Very large.
             Somehow is deposited genetic
             material in the ship.
   
                       HICKS
             Then they're stone cold crazy, man.
             I hear the U.P.P. might try it
             themselves.
   
                       BISHOP
             Given the current state of the arms
             race, it's entirely possible. I'm
             programmed to protect human life,
             Hicks. It's my... nature.
             Everything I am, everything I know,
             tells me this experiment must be
             aborted.
   
                       HICKS
             Yeah. I know the feeling.
   
                       BISHOP
             But I can't be entirely sure you
             can trust me, Hicks.
   
                       HICKS
             You can't what?
   
                       BISHOP
             The U.P.P. may have reprogrammed
             me. I've been very thoroughly
             examined, of course, but the
             possibility does exist.
   
                       HICKS
             Wouldn't you know?
   
                       BISHOP
             No. I may be functioning as an
             enemy agent.
   
                       HICKS
                   (beat)
             What the hell. We have to kill it,
             don't we?
   
                       BISHOP
             I have to try.
   
                       HICKS
             I'm in man. And I think I know
             where we can find us a little
             help...
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. TISSUE LAB
   
   Spence and Tully are alone.
   
                       SPENCE
             What coffee? I'm going to the
             machine.
   
                       TULLY
             No.
   
   He peers into one of the stasis tubes; a small ovoid of
   tissue suspended there.
   
                       SPENCE
             Maintenance cure your pressure
             differential problem?
   
                       TULLY
             Said there wasn't any. Said it was
             a glitch.
   
                       SPENCE
             Didn't want to get his hands dirty?
   
                       TULLY
             It settled down by itself.
   
   Spence exits; Tully moves closer to the tube.
   
   
   CLOSE - THE SINGLE DEVELOPING SPORE
   
   Inside; it looks like a much smaller version of the
   alien egg.
   
   
   WIDER ANGLE
   
                       TULLY
             Hey there. Hi ya. How ya doin'?
             Nutrient solution agreeing with
             you, hm? We're looking lots bigger
             today, aren't we? You bet.
             Terrific. Just absolutely fucking
             wonderful...
   
   His monologue is interrupted by Welles' entrance; he's
   startled, looks up guiltily. The heavy glass doors HISS
   shut behind her.
   
                       WELLES
             Communing with nature, Tully?
   
                       TULLY
             Your not wearing a badge.
                   (taps the plastic ID
                   clipped to his lab
                   coat)
             White strap registers
             contamination. Turns red if you're
             accidentally exposed to something.
             Got it?
   
                       WELLES
             Where's Trent?
   
                       TULLY
             Lunch.
   
                       WELLES
             And how's our friend?
   
   She moves to the stasis tube, looks in.
   
                       TULLY
             Friends. Our little friends.
             Growing.
   
                       WELLES
             Get me hard copy for the past six
             hours.
   
                       TULLY
             Sorry. Ask Trent.
   
                       WELLES
             I don't think you understood me,
             Technician Tully...
   
   She's following him as he nears the main computer
   console; in the b.g., a stasis tube begins to HISS.
   CRACKS loudly, a hairline fracture emits a superfine
   spray of fluid. An alarm SOUNDS.
   
                       WELLES
                     (continuing)
             What does th -
   
                       TULLY
             O Jesus...
   
   Two of the tubes BLOW OUT. Nutrient fluid and plastic
   shards everywhere. Welles and Tully go down. A louder
   ALARM cuts in; red lights strobe. Locks in the doors
   THUNK shut, an automatic containment measure, as
   Spence, outside, throws down her coffee and begins to
   struggle with the door-controls, trying to reach Tully.
   Tully, facedown in a pool of the fluid, see that he's
   nine inches away from the gray pigeon's-egg of alien
   tissue. His eyes widen. Gets to his knees as carefully
   as he can. Reaches slowly - slowly - sideways, manages
   to snag a pair of plastic tongs and a shallow lab tray
   from the counter...
   
   Welles tries to scramble to her feet, loses her balance
   in the slippery goop, and snatches at his arm. He
   nearly falls on top of the thing, but cuffs her roughly
   away, kneels, tongs poised... Beat. A tiny orifice
   opens; for a split-second something glitters above the
   thing, a faint, fist-sized cloud of dark mist. Then
   it's gone and Tully's moving, swooping in with tongs
   and tray.
   
                       SPENCE (V.O.)
                   (intercom)
             Tully! Tully, Goddamn it! What's
             happening? Are you okay?
   
                       TULLY
             De-con. Get us down to De-con!
   
   Welles is struggling to her feet.
   
   
   INT. DECONTAMINATION CHAMBER
   
   Drenched, naked, furious, Welles is nearly invisible
   behind a scalding downpour as techs in biohazard gear
   scrub her down with detergents and antibacterial
   agents. She shoots eye-daggers at Tully, who's being
   worked over by two more techs.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   Jackson at work. PAN ACROSS screens to security camera
   view of the DNA lab, clean now but minus two stasis
   tubes - image identified: "TISSUE CULTURE / 25 AUGUST /
   1900:15 HOURS". Jackson's attention is elsewhere.
   
   
   INT. A CORRIDOR
   
   Hicks keeps watch as Bishop open a panel, exposing
   complex wiring; no hesitation whatever as he strips two
   wires, removes a Walkman-sized VCR from his belt, and
   clips lead to the stripped wires.
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   CLOSE on monitor image of the lab. The picture fuzzes
   out, scrambles, returns - but now reads: "TISSUE
   CULTURE / 23 AUGUST / 1200:02 HOURS" and the missing
   tubes are back in place.
   
   
   INT. ENTRANCE - OUTSIDE LAB
   
                       BISHOP
             We have three minutes at the
             outside.
   
                       HICKS
             Go.
   
   Bishop punches the code-sequence and the door hisses
   open; they're through, moving.
   
   
   INT. TISSUE CULTURE LAB
   
   They move down the row of stasis tubes. Bishop pauses
   when they reach the two units with missing tubes, then
   quickly moves on. He opens a wall panel, exposing
   controls and a large, very serious-looking red switch.
   Label above switch:
   
   
   STASIS SYSTEM MICROWAVE STERILIZATION
   
   Then, he hesitates. Turning slowly, as if under
   compulsion, he looks back; the line of glowing tubes.
   
                       HICKS
             Do it!
   
   And still he doesn't move... Hicks darts his arm past
   Bishop, breaking the trance and yanking the red switch.
   
   A burst of unpleasant high-frequency SOUND as the fluid
   in the tubes instantly begins to boil.
   
   
   CLOSE ON ONE OF THE ALIEN CULTURES
   
   As it bursts, disintegrates into a film of slime lost
   behind a storm of bubbles. The lab's ALARM system goes
   off. The doors slide open as three MARINES cover Hicks
   and Bishop with handguns.
   
                       MARINES
             Just don't you fucking move, Jack.
   
   Hicks stonefaces the Marines. Then cracks a grin.
   
   
   INT. DETENTION UNIT
   
   Hicks and Bishop, in white plastic "medical restraints"
   (like arm and leg-irons) precede the grim-faced Marines
   along a corridor and are thrown into separate cells.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. THE BUBBLE
   
   Meeting of Anchorpoint's full directorate, including
   Welles and Fox, Jackson, and a number of new faces.
   Welles is white-lipped with fury.
   
                       JACKSON
             They knew the code, didn't they?
             The code for the door...
   
                       FOX
             You got it, Ops. And they knew just
             where to go which button to push to
             poach our eggs for us, didn't they?
             Struggling with an idea, Ops? Think
             it may even have been an inside
             job?
   
                       JACKSON
             You're a Grade A Company prick,
             aren't you, mister?
   
   Her bitch truckdriver side; a tough lady, used to
   taking a lot of life-or-death responsibility in her
   job.
   
                       WELLES
             The Anchorpoint phase of the
             project is terminated, Rosetti.
             You'll keep Hicks and the android
             in solitary until they can return
             with us to Gateway to stand trial
             for treason.
   
                       TRENT
             The Anchorpoint phase? What do you
             mean? We have no more material to
             work with...
   
                       FOX
             You have no more material to work
             with, Trent. In any case, it's
             become obvious that you aren't
             quiet the man for the job. We took
             the precaution of obtaining our own
             samples. They're on their way to
             Gateway.
   
                       WELLES
                   (with cold
                   satisfaction)
             ... and everything, every move each
             of you have made, since our
             arrival, is going to be gone over
             with a fine toothed c-c-c-c-
   
   As Welles begins to stammer, her eyes betray a terrible
   consternation. She rises from her chair, lurches
   forward, catching herself on her hands. The C-C-C-C-C
   phases into a chattering palsy as a thick strand of
   blood-streaked drool descends toward the table. Fox,
   seated to her left, has instinctively shoved his own
   chair back, ready to run. Everyone else is frozen with
   shock.
   
   As the chittering tooth-burr becomes a shrill SHRIEK of
   inhuman rage, the transformation takes place. Segmented
   biomechanoid tendons squirm beneath the skin of her
   arms. Her hands claw at one another, tearing redundant
   flesh from alien talons. Then the shriek dies. She
   straightens up.
   
   And, rips her face apart in a single movement, the
   glistening claws coming away with skin, eyes, muscle,
   teeth, and splinters of bone... SOUND of ripping cloth.
   The New Beast sheds its human skin in a single sinuous,
   bloody ripple, molting on fast forward.
   
   An instant of utter silence as the featureless mask
   moves. From side to side. Scanning.
   
   Trent vomits explosively. The Marine guard snatches his
   pistol from ist holster and FIRES wildly across the
   table. Blind screaming chaos.
   
   
   OVERHEAD SHOT
   
   As the directorate plunges, like a single panicked
   organism, to the far side of the bubble. The thing is
   on Fox before he can get up from his chair.
   
   
   CLOSE
   
   On his scream as the sucking, fanged tongue plunges
   through the orbit of his eye.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   A Marine with a flamethrower bursts through the door,
   torching Fox and the New Beast, setting fire to the
   bubble's acoustic foam baffles.
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE TULLY'S SLEEPING CUBICLE
   
   Spence is coming down the corridor, carrying a clear
   plastic bag of styrofoam food containers. Nobody else
   in sight. She look tired, but not particularly worried.
   She reaches the door to his cubicle. Thumps on it with
   the heal of her hand.
   
                       SPENCE
             Tully! Hey! Open up.. Got you some
             food...
   
   No reply. She thumps again, then punches the
   combination (the lock look like a telephone key-pad).
   Door opens. Dark inside.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             Tully? You sleeping?
   
   She climbs in. Dark. Very. A red LED glows on the phone
   console. She crawls through the detritus of Tully's
   housekeeping and fumbles with the lights. Can't find
   the switch.
   
                       SPENCE
             Tully?
   
   Lights CLICK on. Nobody there. Nothing. Looks even
   messier then she last saw it. She sighs, puts the bag
   of food on a ledge, scoops up a mound of dirty cloths
   off the pillow in an automatic cleaning-up gesture. And
   sees Tully's lab badge. Picks it up.
   
   
   CLOSE ON THE BADGE
   
   The contamination indicator strip is red.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. DETENTION CELL
   
   Hicks sitting on the narrow bunk.
   
   Door opens. One of the Marines who arrested his in the
   lab; he wears combat armor now.
   
                       HICKS
             What's your problem, bud? Got a war
             on?
   
   The Marine steps back, admitting a haggard Rosetti.
   
                       ROSETTI
             Get up, Hicks. We need you in the
             Ops Room.
   
                       HICKS
             We didn't kill it.
   
                       ROSETTI
             No. It killed Fox and Welles...
   
   
   INT. TUNNEL, CONSTRUCTION ZONE
   
   Small vehicle WHINES TOWARD US through puddles of
   condensation: a skeletal electric motor-jeep with heavy
   roll bars, scratched and paint-scarred. Walker driving.
   Hick behind him in partial combat armor and
   communication rig, cradling a pulse-rifle.
   
   Walker is pushing it, driving fast; the jeep bounces
   and sways, skitters around a corner. Into the gloom of
   the big construction chamber. Halts.
   
                       HICKS
                   (into mouthpiece)
             Gimme a read.
   
                       JACKSON (V.O.)
                   (from headset)
             You're close. Hang a left.
   
                       HICKS
             Is he moving?
   
                       JACKSON
             No...
   
   Walker swing the jeep around and they roll toward a
   narrow gap between massive stacks of geodesic struts.
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   Jackson studies a simulator screen; a moving cursor,
   the Jeep, navigates a 3D grid-representation of the
   construction zone.
   
                       JACKSON
             No left again.
   
   The cursor turns. Nears a blinking red dot.
   
   Spence, drawn and anxious, looks over Jackson's
   shoulder. Bishop and Rosetti are beside her.
   
                       SPENCE
             You're sure it's him?
   
                       JACKSON
             It's his locator frequency, isn't
             it? No two alike. Surgically
             implanted. Just like yours...
   
                       SPENCE
                   (gnaws at her lip)
             He's not moving...
   
                       ROSETTI
             Why would he go down there?
   
                       BISHOP
             The badge. He knew that he's been
             infected...
   
                       SPENCE
             Scared. He's scared.
                   (shudders)
             Tully...
   
   
   INT. CONSTRUCTION CHAMBER
   
   Dark. The Jeep creeps along between stacks of prefab
   hull units, emerges into a open space, junctions of
   several corridors. The deck is an inch deep in water.
   
                       JACKSON (V.O.)
             He's there! You're right on top of
             him!
   
   Walker stops the jeep. Hicks stands up, plays the beam
   of a flashlight around the area. Presses the mute
   button on his headset.
   
                       HICKS
                   (bellows)
             Tully! Tully! Yo!
   
   ECHO. DRIP of water.
   
   Hicks clips the flashlight beneath the barrel of his
   gun and jumps down. Reflections ripple as he moves
   forward. Swings the beam along the surface - something
   there... The logo-patches down a sleeve of Tully's
   ruptured, blood-soaked leather jacket. Drifting shred
   of human tissue...
   
                       JACKSON (V.O.)
             Can you see him?
   
                       HICKS
             Yeah.
   
   And the thing that was Tully launches itself from the
   top of one of the stacks of construction material.
   Lands on top of the jeep, going for Walker, through the
   roll bars.
   
   
   CLOSEUP ON JAWS
   
   As the thing's tail lashes past Walker's face, taking a
   nick out of a steel bar.
   
   On the controls, a pair of levers: he yanks one back,
   shoves the other forward, thumbs both drive buttons
   simultaneously.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   The jeep (separate drive-trains for each wheel) pulls
   two three-sixties on a dime, hurling the thing toward
   Hicks. It smashes into the desk, splash of water, leaps
   for Hicks instantly. The charge from his pulse-rifle
   takes it in mid-air, hideous bile-yellow spurt of
   acid... And it hits the water again with a terrific
   EXPLOSION of steam. The jeep lurches out through the
   steam, engines SCREAMING, wheels losing traction
   through the puddle, throwing up fantails of water,
   nearly overturning. Hicks jumps, snags a roll bar,
   empties the pulse-rifle's clip into the steam on full-
   auto as Walker hauls ass back down the corridor...
   
                       JACKSON (V.O.)
             Hicks! What's happening?
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
                       JACKSON
             Hicks? Hicks!
   
   
   CLOSE ON SCREEN
   
   As the jeep-cursor speeds away from Tully's blinking
   locator-dot.
   
   Spence's eyes fixed on the screen as she makes a
   serious stab at swallowing her own fist.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. RODINA - BIOLAB
   
   VERY SLOW PAN past monitors - one flickering like a
   defective strobe, the other displaying a readout in
   Russian - past an overturned mug on a keyboard, past
   assorted equipment, past the shattered ruin of the big
   stasis tube, to Suslov and Braun cocooned in a
   glittering biomech structure of alien resin. Braun is
   dead, his rib cage gaping.
   
   SCREAMS and the HAMMER of automatic weapons. Station
   crew fleeing in panic enter through one door, crash
   into tables, scattering trays of food, claw at one
   another to escape through another door. The Vietnamese
   commando and her partner are last into the room; they
   spin in unison and FIRE back through the door. SOUND of
   rending metal and loud inhuman RAGE.
   
   The commandos scramble for the far door as the alien
   crashes into the mess: a new form, the result of
   Suslov's genetic tinkering. Bigger. Meaner. Faster.
   Able to reproduce more quickly.
   
   The frantic crew are climbing a ladder. The commandos
   start up the ladder. They climb through a circular
   hatch. Like the deck they stand on, the hatch is made
   of heavy steel expansion-grid. The alien swarms up the
   ladder, slams into the hatch just as the commandos
   close and lock it. The alien keeps on slamming. The
   steel begins to bulge and tear...
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - OPS ROOM
   
   Hicks, Bishop, Rosetti, Shuman, and Jackson.
   
                       JACKSON
             Cant's raise 'em, boss.
   
                       SHUMAN
             Try the diplomatic codes...
   
                       JACKSON
             Diplomatic codes? They aren't
             responding to Mayday International.
             Maybe they've got a transponder
             down, but - hey, check this,
             outgoing traffic...
                   (she bobs her head,
                   taps her lapboard)
             It's a squirt transmission...
             Military decryption standard.
   
                       ROSETTI
             What do they have in the area?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (taps up a fresh screen
                   of data)
             Not much. Automated mining system
             working NC-313... Test module for a
             terraforming operation enroute MV-
             45... And, here we go, the battle
             cruiser Nikolai Stoiko. Nine hours
             from Rodina if they push it.
   
                       HICKS
             What I wanna know is, what do we
             have in the area?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (another screen of
                   data)
             Not much. How about the Kansas
             City, Colonel Admin transport? We
             hit her with a mayday, she'll get
             here inside twenty hours.
   
                       HICKS
             Then what?
   
                       ROSETTI
             We abandon the station.
   
                       HICKS
             Destroy the station, man! We got
             nukes?
   
                       ROSETTI
             Outlawed under the Strategic Arms
             Reduction treaty.
   
                       JACKSON
             We can fiddle the overrides on the
             fusion package. Baby nova.
   
                       BISHOP
             We're dealing with a new form,
             Colonel. We know nothing of this
             new mode of reproduction. Others
             may have already become hosts...
   
                       ROSETTI
             What are you suggesting?
   
                       BISHOP
             In order to be entirely certain,
             Colonel, it would be necessary to
             override the fusion package now.
   
   Jackson looks up at Bishop; he's suggesting mass
   suicide.
   
                       HICKS
             I thought you were programmed to
             protect human life?
   
                       BISHOP
                   (with android
                   blandness)
             I'm taking the long view.
   
   Jackson's console CHIMES, begins to display new data,
   ID shots of three crew members.
   
                       JACKSON
             Missing persons.
                   (she taps her way
                   through windows of
                   data)
             Two were members of the clean-up
             crew who did the lab after the
             blowout. Third doesn't check... No,
             wait. Lives with one of the first
             two.. But that makes a total of
             fifteen... Something's happening...
   
                       HICKS
             Goddamn, Rosetti, it's catching!
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (ignores him)
             Mayday Kansas City, Jackson.
   
                       HICKS
             What about Sulaco?
   
                       SHUMAN
             It would take two days to raise
             her.
   
                       HICKS
                   (bitterly)
             With that shit on board.
   
                       ROSETTI
             Gateway will have our warning
             before Sulaco arrives.
   
                       SHUMAN
             Fine, Colonel. And who do you
             suppose will be willing to take it
             seriously? Weapons Division?
   
                       JACKSON
             Hey, I'm getting something! The
             socialist space brothers speak at
             last...
   
   Her main screen flickers and jumps; the speakers hill
   with a roar of STATIC -
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             Their transmission standards get
             worse all the -
   
   She falls silent as the screen clear, revealing a young
   Slavic madwoman - one of Suslov's lab assistants - in
   blood-drenched coveralls. Jerky handheld video, grainy
   transmission, indistinct background. She clutches a
   sheet of paper, reads aloud from it in a foreign
   language.
   
                       SHUMAN
             Get a translation program on line,
             Jackson!
   
   Jackson's already punching. An instantaneous computer
   translation cuts in as V.O.; the girl's lips move, out
   of sync, like a cheap dub; the transmission is rendered
   in flat synthi-voice.
   
   
   CLOSEUP ON SCREEN
   
                       SPOKESWOMAN
             ... of Progressive Peoples.
             Technician First Class, Tatjana
             Malik. Please, we wish to inform
             you: we have undertaken an
             experiment with genetic material
             obtained from the military
             transport vessel... We attempted to
             clone the xenomorph in stasis.
             Failure of the stasis system
             occurred in the fifteenth hour...
             Attempted modification of the
             genetic structure has resulted in a
             variant which replicates rapidly,
             more
             rapidly...
                   (and here, horribly,
                   she smiles)
             It has... taken... most of us.
             Those of us who remain... We wish
             to warn you: you must terminate any
             experiment with the material now.
             It is impossible. It cannot be
             contained. There is no -
   
   The image flickers, vanishes.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
                       JACKSON
             Lost 'em. That's it... Goddamnit,
             she was just a tech. Their brass
             didn't bother...
   
                       HICKS
             No brass left...
   
                       JACKSON
             And you better check this, Hicks.
   
   Her other screens display assorted images of nearly
   identical tunnels and passageways, but three of them
   are black; she gestures to the dark screens.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             This is down by the main air-
             scrubber. System says those cameras
             are still operational, but there's
             something in the way. Something
             big...
   
   
   EXT. ANCHORPOINT - ECO-MODULE
   
   Huge louvers pivot smoothly, like Venetian blinds,
   revealing lush vegetation through thick plastic...
   
   
   INT. ECO-MODULE
   
   Spence sits cross-legged in Newt's meadow, tearfully
   hugging a small tame primate. Light crosses the meadow
   as the louvers open overhead, beyond the geodesics.
   Artificial dawn. BIRDS begins to sing. Quiet before the
   storm...
   
   
   EXT. RODINA
   
   No sign of movement.
   
   Dimly lit. Clutter of spacesuits, machinery. The
   Vietnamese commando seated on the floor, back to the
   wall, cradling her gun. The corpse of her partner is
   sprawled on the deck beside her, face hideously burned,
   his armor fretworked with acid. Her face is blank, eyes
   straight ahead.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   EXT. ANCHORPOINT
   
   The station.
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - MEDLAB - CORRIDOR
   
   Hicks, still in his fighting gear, walking
   purposefully. MedLab staff inhospital whites dubiously
   note his passage.
   
   
   INT. MED LAB - RIPLEY'S ROOM
   
   Ripley comatose, still hooked up to assorted
   biomonitors, the only movement in the room the restless
   flicker of a bank of colored diodes.
   
   Hicks enters, crosses to the bed, seems about to speak,
   makes a helpless little gesture with his hands - then
   yanks the biomonitor leads from the bedside console.
   The diodes go out; a buzzer begins to SOUND. The bed is
   mounted on casters. He starts to pull it out of the
   room. Stops. Looks up at Newt's map on the wall.
   
   He rips the map from the wall and stuffs it into her
   hospital gown.
   
   
   INT. MEDLAB - CORRIDOR
   
   Hicks hustles Ripley through MedLab, not about to stop
   for anyone; startled staff jump out of the way.
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - ANOTHER CORRIDOR - ENTRANCE TO A
   LIFEBOAT
   
   Signs and notices detailing lifeboat launch procedures.
   Hicks lifts Ripley from the bed, carries her through
   hatch into lifeboat. Places her in a hypersleep
   capsule, presses a button. The lid comes down. Silent
   moment as he looks down at her through the lid, his
   palm on the smooth plastic in a gesture of farewell,
   resignation. Then back through the hatch, where he
   activates controls that seal the boat, setting the
   launch-procedure in motion.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   On the blunt prows of the lifeboat receding around the
   curve of the station's hull.
   
   
   INT. LIFEBOAT BAY
   
   Hicks watching digital countdown. Muted WHUMP of
   explosive bolts -
   
   
   EXT. LIFEBOAT
   
   Flash of the bolts as Ripley's boat is launched into
   the sweep of night.
   
   
   INT. LIFEBOAT BAY
   
   Bishop enters behind Hicks.
   
                       BISHOP
             But can you be certain she hasn't
             been infected?
   
                       HICKS
             I'll take the chance.
   
                       BISHOP
             Why?
   
                       HICKS
             I owe her one.
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   Jackson at her screens; display as before, the tunnels
   near the air-scrubber - with three screens dark.
   CLOSEUP on one tunnel-view as an open, six-wheeled
   personnel carrier rolls past the video camera, Hick
   looking up.
   
   Five Marines in full battle dress ride with him: ALSOP,
   GREENFIELD, BRICE, COSTELLO, WALLACE.
   
                       JACKSON
             Next junction, hang a right...
   
   
   INT. TUNNEL
   
   Dim; light spaced far apart along tunnel. The carrier
   takes a right.
   
                       JACKSON (V.O.)
             Left at the fork and you wanna take
             it slow. Fifty meters to whatever's
             in front of that camera...
   
   Hicks gestures to Wallace, the driver. The carrier
   halts. SOUND of the air-scrubbers from down the tunnel.
   The Marines shift their weapons, uneasily eye the
   tunnel ahead. These are young recruits, not the hard-
   case vets of "Aliens."
   
                       HICKS
             Now listen up. We don't do this by
             the book, we don't pair off. Stay
             together, tight. Greenfield up
             front with me; anything moves, you
             torch it. The rest of you, if it
             moves, kill it. You gotta get the
             fuckers before they get close. You
             know about the acid; you know they
             don't show on infrared. And you
             know you don't let them take you
             alive. You might have to do a
             friend a favor... Ready? Move out.
   
   He climbs down from the carrier, heavily burdened with
   gear. The others follow. Greenfield has a flamethrower.
   They move forward. Toward the next light; beyond it,
   the tunnel curves out of sight.
   
                       JACKSON (V.O.)
             You're right up on it, Hicks. Right
             around the corner...
   
                       HICKS
             Affirmative...
   
   They round the turn, weapons ready. And stop, stunned.
   
                       GREENFIELD
             Wha' 'th...?
   
   The tunnel, which widens here as it approaches the
   massive air-scrubber, has been transformed; its lights
   are dimly visible through shrouds of resin. Vast ribs
   of the stuff sweep up from a dim and monstrous shape
   that covers the deck at the base of the scrubber; we're
   looking into an Alien grotto, black and pearlescent,
   and obscene fairyland. The shape's symmetry suggest
   function.
   
   Patient DRUMMING of the air-scrubber's giant fans.
   
                       HICKS
             Scan it. Motion?
   
                       COSTELLO
                   (consulting tracker,
                   adjusting knob)
             Negative.
   
                       HICKS
             Alsop, gimme the flood...
   
   Alsop passes Hicks a portable halogen-flood. Hicks
   thumbs it on...
   
                       WALLACE
             Holy Christ.
   
   The central shape is revealed as an enormous mutant
   queen. The thing is splayed on its back, mortared into
   the mass of resin, its vestigial head toward Hicks and
   the Marines. Its abdomen is arched like an inverted
   scorpion-tail, tipped with a swollen, semi-translucent
   sac that ripples and pulses in the glare of Hick's
   lamp. A biomechanical birth-factory.
   
                       HICKS
                   (passing the flood to
                   Brice)
             Hold it... steady.
   
   He kneels, unslings one of his gear cases, open it,
   revealing a squat tube.
   
                       HICKS
             Moving. Something's moving...
   
   Hicks is working on the tube-thing, snapping components
   into place.
   
   Brice suddenly swings the beam away from the queen,
   revealing half a dozen new-model Aliens twisting out of
   recesses in the grotto walls...
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   Jackson and Bishop hear SCREAMS and FIRING over the
   comm-link.
   
                       HICK (V.O.)
             The light! The goddamn light!
                   (garble)
   
   The Aliens tear into the Marines like living chainsaws.
   Wallace and Costello go down immediately; the Aliens
   begin to drag them away. Hicks has gotten hold of the
   light, struggles to keep it on the queen as he props
   the tube against his thigh. SCREAMS. Blue stutter of
   pulse-rifles. A tongue of fire from Greenfield's
   flamethrower, but an Alien jumps him; the napalm-stream
   arcs wildly, splashing the resin structure - and the
   Queen wakes. The huge tail extends, lifts in the
   floodlight beam...
   
   Hicks is still trying to assemble his mortar.
   
   As the swollen, podlike tail-tip splits open with a
   sickly, tearing SOUND, releasing a puffball cloud of
   dark mist - we've seen it before, in miniature, with
   Tully in the lab - which begins to rise, drawn up
   toward the giant fans above the air-scrubber...
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
                       HICKS (V.O.)
             Stop the fans!
   
   Bishop is instantly on the case, leaning over Jackson's
   shoulder to punch the right button, but...
   
   
   INT. SCRUBBER-TUNNEL
   
   Too late. The cloud of spores is sucked into the fans -
   as Hicks drop a shell into the mortar. It bucks against
   his thigh and the queen is blown to shred in an
   EXPLOSION that rips out the side of the scrubber.
   
                       HICKS
             The vents! Seal the vents!
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   Bishop's fingers fly as he punches another sequence.
   
   
   INT. VENT
   
   Straight down the pipe, a long way, to the whirling
   fans. Huge hermetic barriers SLAM across the vent in
   sequence - one, two, three.
   
   
   INT. SCRUBBER-TUNNEL
   
   Hicks scramble to his feet.
   
                       HICKS
             Out! Out of here! Now!
   
   The Marine beside him begins to spasm and quake as the
   Change comes. Hicks SHOOTS him in the chest at close
   range and sprints for the carrier.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. RODINA - HUB
   
   The Vietnamese commando nears the station's hub. The
   walls, in one large chamber, are decorated with
   official U.P.P. art, like a blend of Mexican Socialists
   agitprop murals and Syd Mead techo-fantasy. She passes
   evidence of brief violent struggle: a wall splashed
   with dried blood, a single shoe, smashed equipment,
   ragged acid-scars in the deck.
   
   She looks like a child now, moving through all this,
   small and alone. But not helpless: she still moves with
   a cat's wariness, her gun ready.
   
   Three face-huggers scuttle across at an intersection of
   corridors, tails thrashing...
   
   She comes to a door that opens onto Rodina's central
   hub, a large cylindrical space surrounding a core of
   equipment. The door is ajar; she edges through...
   
   Virtually the station's entire crew, perhaps a hundreds
   people, have been cocooned along the multi-story
   column, a bas-relief of human bodies and glittering
   resin.
   
   She stares from a railing, appalled, then slips through
   the door.
   
   
   INT. ACHORPOINT - OPS ROOM
   
   Rosetti, Jackson, Bishop
   
                       JACKSON
             I don't know what they did down
             there, but it's screwed up internal
             comm-link for the whole area; I
             can't raise 'em...
   
   One of Jackson's consoles CHIMES; her central screen
   suddenly glows with a hi-rez simulation of Rodina.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             Rodina's got company...
   
   
   EXT. SPACE
   
   Silent approach of the U.P.P. cruiser Nikolai Stoiko, a
   vicious-looking mile-long slab of armament. Stoiko
   slows, comes to an ominous halt.
   
   
   INT. RODINA
   
   The commando bolts down a corridor. Total desperation.
   She's lost her gun. A CRASH behind her. The beast's
   shrill RAGE. She throws herself through the first
   available door - and sees the interceptor waiting. She
   scrambles up a ladder, through the hatch, and
   frantically begins to activate systems. Sirens begin to
   SOUND in the launch bay. The interceptor's hatch closes
   as the twin gates of the bay begin to swing open - and
   the beast is on her, striking at the view-port in the
   hatch, inches from her face. She flips open a safety-
   override on the interceptor's joystick and thumbs a red
   button.
   
   
   EXT. RODINA
   
   Total overdrive: the interceptor BLASTS out through the
   half open gates in a fireball of exhaust gases, the
   beast and the service ladder tumbling after it...
   
   
   EXT. SPACE - STOIKO
   
   Something streak from the bow of the cruiser...
   
   
   INT. ANCHORPOINT - OPS ROOM
   
   Jackson huddled over her screen.
   
                       JACKSON
             Missile!
   
   
   EXT. SPACE - RODINA - INTERCEPTOR IN F.G.
   
   The U.P.P. missile takes out the station. Whiteout of
   nuclear EXPLOSION; the interceptor is a black blot
   tumbling toward us like a singed leaf in a whirlwind...
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   The simulation of Rodina on Jackson's screen is
   surrounded by an expanding blue sphere. The sphere
   stops expanding. The simulation blurs into digital
   static, fades as the sphere begins to contract...
   
                       JACKSON
             Nuked 'em! Twenty megs! That coded
             transmission...
   
                       ROSETTI
             Send Mayday.
   
                       JACKSON
             I don't believe it! They send for
             help, their own people nuked 'em!
   
                       HICKS
                   (quietly)
             Maybe they asked for it...
   
                       ROSETTI
             That's an order, Jackson!
   
   Bishop looks at Rosetti as though he's about to offer
   an opinion, but doesn't.
   
                       JACKSON
             Maybe they'll nuke us too...
   
                       BISHOP
             No. They're leaving...
   
   
   EXT. SPACE - STOIKO
   
   The cruiser begins to move, accelerates, is gone.
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
                       ROSETTI
             Bastards!
   
                       JACKSON
             Yeah. And they violated the fucking
             arms treaty, too, didn't they?
             Well, Colonel Rosetti, how about a
             situation update? We got, lessee,
             fifty-six missing crew members as
             of fifteen hundred hours...
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. THE MALL
   
   Deserted. The only SOUNDS are Muzak and the trickles of
   an artificial waterfall. Some signs of trouble: an
   overturned trash canister, someone's red nylon baseball
   cap on the polished concrete.
   
   Walker strolls around a corner beside the bar with a
   pulse-rifle, grenades, and assorted gadgetry slung
   across his chest. Goes to the bar entrance, nudges the
   door open with the barrel of the rifle. Nobody there.
   Same soccer game on the big screen, but the sound is
   off. Silent cheering crowd rising to its feet, the
   flicker of the holo-game consoles. He glances around
   the mall, enters. Crosses to the bar, checks behind it,
   then fishes up a big plastic jug of liquor. Opens it,
   drink from the jug.
   
   Behind him, a mug topples, CLATTERS on the floor. He
   slowly lowers the liquor to the counter; just as
   slowly, he turns. A beast is there, waiting, beyond the
   Glimmer of the holo-games.
   
   Walker and the beast move simultaneously. But he
   doesn't go for his gun - he grabs the control unit
   hanging on his chest.
   
   An unmanned power-loader walks straight through the
   glass facade, plowing tables and chairs out of its way,
   big vise-grip claws extended. The Alien SCREAMS, leaps
   for it, but the steel claws close and grip.
   
   Walker twiddles the controls; the power-loader
   responds, pinning the Alien against the wall. The Alien
   writhes and HISSES, striking furiously at the hydraulic
   arm. Walker tightens the grip, locks the loader in
   place. Picks up the jug of liquor and has another
   swallow.
   
                       WALLACE
             Fuck you.
   
   Beat. As his satisfied grin is replaced by something
   else. The Change...
   
   
   INT. ECO-MODULE
   
   Artificial dusk. Spence is crossing the mirco-meadow
   with a wire basket of food the module's population of
   small primates. Moths flutter through narrowing beams
   of sunlight as the louvers gradually close overhead.
   CRICKETS in the long grass.
   
   She enters the scaled-down forest, ducking branches,
   and Spanish moss. Begins to make Tk-tk-tk sound,
   calling the lemur, the monkeys...
   
   And stops. Suddenly aware of a stillness, an absolute
   silence. Even the crickets...
   
   She turns - gasps. The primates have been cocooned in
   the branches of a tree. And screams as something
   pounces on her from above, the transformed lemur: a
   very small Alien. She bats the thing away with the
   strength of desperation. It hits the ground HISSING;
   she hurls the basket of food at it and bolts from the
   forest, sobbing.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   INT. A TUNNEL
   
   WHINE of an approaching engine. The six-wheeled carrier
   come INTO VIEW, Hicks driving, alone. His face is
   fixed, white. The carrier slews against the tunnel
   wall, strikes sparks, bounces off. He hardly seems to
   notice. He plows into a row of big plastic crates,
   tumbling them like a child's blocks, bringing the
   vehicle to a halt. Beat. He look up from the controls:
   the doors of a freight elevator.
   
   
   INT. A CORRIDOR OFF THE MALL
   
   Automatic CHIME as elevator doors open, revealing Hicks
   and his gun.
   
   
   INT. THE MALL
   
   Hicks warily crosses the Mall. SOUND of perpetual
   Muzak. He eyes the wreckage of the bar, but keeps
   moving. Into stuttering neon light from one of the
   shops. HISS and CRACKLE of bad wiring. He move toward
   the shop, gun ready.
   
   
   INT. SHOP
   
   Hicks enters, surveys the wreckage of display cases,
   scattered 21st century consumer toys.
   
   He finds five cocoons at the read of the shop.
   
   
   INT. THE MALL
   
   LONG on the shop. Beat. SOUND of five rounds from the
   pulse-rifle. With the last shot, the neon flicker dies.
   Muzak stops.
   
   Hicks emerges, continues across the Mall.
   
   Arrives at the elevator-like entrance to the mini-
   subway, punches in his destination ("OPS" lights up in
   red). Muffled SOUND of the breaking car; the door
   HISSES open - on Spence, both hands white-knuckled on
   the loop of a hanger-strap, the car an abattoir, red
   with the blood of Transformation.
   
   Shredded clothing and rags of flesh.
   
                       HICKS
             Spence...
   
   She screams.
   
   
   INT. OPS ROOM
   
   Rosetti and Jackson are hunched over the screens as
   Hicks enters with Spence over his shoulder, brushing
   past two nervous Marines at the door. Bishop is making
   calculations on a console in the b.g. Hicks eases
   Spence down into a chair.
   
                       JACKSON
             Revised ETA fro the Kansas City's
             another thirteen hours...
   
                       HICKS
                   (yanking Rosetti around
                   in his chair)
             Things don't look so shit hot out
             there right now, Rosetti. What
             about rigging the fusion package?
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (to Jackson; ignoring
                   Hicks)
             Sound the general alert, routine
             lifeboat drill...
   
                       HICKS
             A general fucking alert? Lifeboat
             drill? Who the hell you think's
             gonna be left to pick up? I say we
             do the fusion package now!
   
                       JACKSON
                   (wearily; without
                   looking up from her
                   screen)
             Hicks, you took out the scrubber,
             the main air-scrubber. Pretty soon
             there isn't going to be anything to
             breathe in here. We'd by okay for
             about five days, except you also
             started an electrical fire and we
             got no way to put it out.
   
   The crew's down to one-twenty-eight.
   
                       HICKS
                   (stunned)
             More than half...?
   
                       JACKSON
             That's what I said.
   
                       HICKS
             And you haven't rigged the place to
             blow?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (glances at Rosetti)
             No.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (as if noticing him for
                   the first time)
             You'll lead the group from this
             sector, Hicks. At the alert,
             they'll gather at blue assembly
             points. Proceed to the nearest
             lifeboat bay...
   
                       BISHOP
                   (approaching Rosetti
                   with a single sheet of
                   printout)
             Colonel, my analysis indicates that
             a minimum of one fifth of the one
             hundred and twenty-eight remaining
             crew are already incubating the -
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (on the edge of
                   hysteria)
             Listen to me, you motherless
             zombie! Those are people! Can't you
             understand that? And we're going to
             get them out!
   
                       BISHOP
             Yes, Colonel, I...
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (to Hicks)
             You have your orders!
   
                       HICKS
             I don't leave here until Jackson
             sets it to blow, Rosetti. Got that?
             Kansas City shows up, maybe there's
             nobody left for them to pick up.
             Then what? They'll send a boarding
             party in here!
   
                       JACKSON
             I can't. The fusion package is
             under the scrubber, Hicks. You
             trashed the wiring, man. That's
             where the fire is. Those lines. I
             can't link through. I can't set it.
   
                       BISHOP
             I'll go; I'll get it manually.
   
                       HICKS
             I'll go with you.
   
                       BISHOP
             No. Assist with the...
                   (glances down at the
                   figures on the sheet of
                   printout)
             The evacuation.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (to Rosetti)
             You just want to get your own ass
             out of here, don't you? They
             couldn't have done this without you
             approval, could they?
   
                       SPENCE
             Hick!
   
   As one of the Marine guards stumbles forward, dropping
   his weapon, hands upraised in claws of agony -
   
                       MARINE
             Please, I...
   
   He trips, fall across Jackson's console and the barrel
   of Hick's gun - as half a dozen New Model Chest-
   bursters erupt simultaneously from his torso in a spray
   of blood. Hicks bellow, jumps back, grabbing Spence.
   
   The chest bursters tumble from the body of the dead
   Marine, scuttle into the shadows; one leaves a trail of
   small bloody prints across Jackson's keyboard.
   
                       HICKS
             Out! Out of here!
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR
   
   Hicks, Spence, Bishop, Rosetti, Jackson, and the
   remaining Marine guard hustle along, Hicks and Bishop
   bringing up the rear. Rosetti carries the dead Marine's
   pulse-rifle. Bishop touches Hick's shoulder as they
   reach the intersection.
   
                       BISHOP
             I'll try to give you an hour.
             Overload at twenty-two hundred.
   
                       HICKS
                   (quietly; doesn't want
                   the others to hear)
             Blow it. That's what matters.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP
   
   On Hick's watch as her set the alarm for 2200 hours.
   
                       BISHOP
             Yes.
   
   Bishop splits off, down another corridor, running.
   
   
   INT. LIFEBOAT ASSEMBLY POINT
   
   Another intersection of corridors. A pathetic remnant
   of Anchorpoint's crew cluster beneath a flashing blue
   light. A dozen people, including HALLIDAY, a woman
   Spence's age; TATSUMI (male Japanese); a LAB TECH
   (male).
   
                       ROSETTI
             Where are the others? There should
             be thirty people here...
   
                       HALLIDAY
                   (dazed and confused)
             I can't find Tom. What is it?
             What's going on? He was just here.
             I mean there. But then...
   
                       JACKSON
             Forget it, he's probably already on
             the boat. You know him, right?
             C'mon, we're getting out of here
             ourselves...
   
   Hicks pulls a service automatic from his vest and slips
   it to Jackson.
   
                       HICKS
                   (under his breath)
             Keep an eye on everybody, okay,
             Ops?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (to the others)
             Okay! You all know the Goddamn
             drill! Done it often enough, right?
             We're taking A-52 to Blue
             Concourse. We stick together. We'll
             meet up with two others groups at
             Bay Five and proceed to board...
   
                       TATSUMI
             What is happening, please?
   
                       JACKSON
             What's happening is we're getting
             on the boats! Move!
   
   
   INT. THE MALL
   
   Dense haze of smoke from burning insulation; half the
   lights are out. A body floats face down in the pool at
   the foot of the waterfall; the pool is overflowing,
   splashing on polished concrete. Bishop emerges from a
   doorway and hurries along toward the freight elevator.
   He freezes. Hears something else. Moves quietly in the
   direction of the SOUND. The bar. He peers into the
   wreckage. Four Aliens are at work, cocooning their
   prey. Cocooned bodies - CLOSE on the face of Shuman -
   have been glued to the big screen, where silent images
   of the soccer game repeat endlessly. Bishop stares,
   then turns - looks up.
   
   A Queen. The thing towers above him in the Mall,
   utterly still.
   
   Beat.
   
   He takes a step backward. Another.
   
   The Queen's head sways.
   
   Another step. He bolts for the elevator.
   
   The Queen screams her rage, scrambles after him like a
   famished mantis.
   
   He's reached the elevator - stabs desperately at the
   controls - as the doors open and he's through, punching
   more buttons - as the Queen strikes, her first blow
   buckling the steel doors.
   
   
   INT. FREIGHT ELEVATOR
   
   Her huge stinger lashes in through the gap, whipping
   and slicing, Bishop braced up straight in a corner,
   hand still on the controls. The elevator GROANS,
   SHUDDERS, begins to descend, then jams in the shaft.
   The stinger whips back out. SOUND of rending metal as
   the Queen continues her attack.
   
   
   INT. A CORRIDOR AT BULKHEAD HATCH
   
   Jackson ducks through first, still wearing her Ops cap.
   Rosetti next, then Spence, helping Halliday; the others
   follow, Hicks bringing up the rear. Hicks pauses, looks
   back through the hatch. Hears a distant CRASH, an
   inhuman cry. Takes a small bat of plastic explosive
   from his vest and squashes it against the edge of the
   bulkhead. Pulls a grenade from his harness, twists its
   neck in the delay-detonate combination, sticks in into
   the plastique, closes the hatch, and runs.
   
   The smoke is getting worse.
   
   
   INT. BLUE CONSOURSE
   
   Another of the white-tiled traffic-tunnels, this one
   identified by a wide band of blue along either side. A
   small vehicle has overturned, amid blood and torn
   clothing. Jackson and her party are skirting the wreck
   as Hicks catches up with them. Jackson whirls at the
   SOUND of running feet, bringing up the pistol.
   
                       HICKS
             Easy, Jackson!
   
                       JACKSON
             Where y'been?
   
   A distant EXPLOSION shakes the tunnel, jarring loose
   several tiles.
   
                       HICKS
                   (low, so the others
                   won't hear)
             They're following us. Left 'em
             something to slow 'em down.
   
                       JACKSON
             Might as well. Just try not to put
             a hole in the hull, okay?
                   (coughs)
             Remember the air-scrubber...
   
                       HICKS
             Let's move.
   
   
   INT. FREIGHT ELEVATOR
   
   Bishop on his knees, running his hands delicately over
   the ribbed plastic flooring. The Queen HISSES, BASHES
   the door. He finds a seam, levers up with his nails,
   gets a grip. Pulls. Sense of his android strength as
   the flooring comes up on pale streamers of super-glue.
   The elevator shakes with the Queen's fury. He finds a
   section of the floor that can be removed. Forces the
   glue-caked catches. Slams down with the heel of his
   hand - the panel falls away, tumbling through smoke
   toward a point of fire-glow at the shaft's distant
   foot.
   
   
   INT. SHAFT
   
   Bishop lowers himself through the opening, dangles. An
   emergency service-ladder is recessed in one wall. He
   tries to reach one of the rungs with his foot, but the
   toe of his boot slips. Too far. He begins to swing back
   and forth like a gymnast, building momentum - and lets
   go. Falls six feet before he manages to get a grip.
   
   He begins to descend the ladder. It's a long way down.
   
   
   INT. BLUE CONSOURSE
   
   The lifeboat party emerges, coughing, from a wall of
   acrid smoke.
   
   
   REACTION SHOT
   
   Dismay and amazement.
   
   The tunnel has been sealed with a plug of Alien resin.
   Human bones, weapons, and Marine helmets protrude from
   the biomech convolutions of the resin-wall.
   
   Another of the six-wheeled military vehicles carriers
   is skewed across the tunnel in a pool of blood.
   
                       ROSETTI
             It doesn't want us to get out...
   
                       HICKS
             Bugs. Just fucking bugs... C'mon.
                   (he climbs into the
                   driver's seat of the
                   carrier)
             We're taking the bus. Which way,
             Ops?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (getting in beside him)
             Way we came, unless you think of
             something better.
   
                       HALLIDAY
             What's he mean, "bugs"? What is
             that thing?
                   (pointing at the resin-
                   plug)
             Where's Tom? Where's Tom?
   
                       SPENCE
                   (taking her arm;
                   leading her to the
                   carrier)
             It'll be okay. Here, get up...
             There was an experiment. It got out
             of control. We have to go...
   
                       TATSUMI
             What kind of experiment?
   
                       HICKS
                   (throwing the carrier
                   into gear; cutting off
                   their questions)
             Come on!
   
   
   INT. BLUE CONCOURSE
   
   TRACKING on carrier, CLOSE on Hicks and Jackson. She
   takes a flat gadget from her jacket and flips it open;
   a miniature computer-map on anchorpoint, like a pocket
   video game.
   
   As she wiggles a tiny joystick, EXTREME CLOSEUP on
   miniature color screen; she's looking for an alternate
   route to the lifeboats.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (still studying the
                   map)
             Left at B-83. We'll cut through
             Aquaculture, up to level to
             Aeroponics. We can get into
             Residential from there, then it's
             up a service tunnel behind the
             central mainframe...
   
                       HICKS
             Sounds complicated.
   
                       JACKSON
             Quickest way.
   
   Flips the map shut. Spence is trying to comfort
   Halliday.
   
   
   INT. AQUACULTURE FARM
   
   An automated fish farm; factory space ranged with
   dozens of waist-high round white vats of dark green
   water. Low ceiling, dim light. Sweeps rotate slowly
   across the water in some vats; others are still, with
   floating green vegetation.
   
   Hicks leads the party along a narrow aisle between the
   vats. Jackson pauses to check her map and watch; Hicks
   light a cigarette, leans his elbow against the nearest
   vat.
   
                       JACKSON
             We're doing okay...
   
   The surface of the water behind Hicks' elbow erupts as
   the fish go into a feed frenzy. He yelps and jumps
   back, dropping his cigarette.
   
                       SPENCE
             Bass. They're just hungry... Ready
             to be harvested.
   
                       HICKS
             Sure. Let's get out of here, okay?
   
   The others follow, keeping their distance from the
   vats.
   
   
   INT. ELEVATOR SHAFT
   
   Bishop jumps down, dodges a dangling power cable,
   squints through the smoke. Finds a manual emergency
   level that opens the shaft's door.
   
   
   INT. TUNNEL
   
   A blast of air fans the flames behind him as he steps
   out. The carrier is there, among the scattered crates,
   where Hicks left it. Bishop climbs in, tries the power.
   A feeble whine. Touches another button.  The dash
   flashes "BATTERY RECHARGE."  He climbs down an sets off
   along the tunnel at a jog.
   
   
   INT. AEROPONICS FARM
   
   State of the art. Epcot-style soilless cultivation.
   Tall A-frame structures of white styrofoam are studded
   with hundreds of precisely spaced plants, their roots
   watered by periodic bursts of high-pressure mist.
   Vegetables sprout from the sides of tapering styrofoam
   columns. All of the wreathed in mist under brilliant
   halogen lamps.
   
   Hicks scans the chamber, gun ready, as the party
   emerges from a hatch in the white deck behind him.
   Spence has to help Halliday, whose cheeks are streaked
   with tears. Rosetti's up last, clutching his pulse-
   rifle a bit too tightly, eyes darting around the
   chamber.
   
                       HICKS
             Keep the safety on, Colonel. You
             could hurt somebody.
   
   He kneels beside the hatch, takes plastique and a
   grenade from his harness, and slaps together another
   bomb.
   
                       ROSETTI
             What are you doing?
   
                       HICKS
             They may be following us.
   
   He closes the hatch over the charge and locks it.
   Halliday starts to weep hysterically in Spence's arms;
   goes to her knees, the tries to curl into a fetal
   position on the white deck, shuddering, crying like a
   child. Rosetti rushes over as Spence is trying to get
   her to her feet.
   
                       ROSETTI
             They'll hear you!
   
   Rosetti slaps Halliday's face, hard; eliciting a
   piercing scream. Spence - no hesitation - punches him
   solidly in the face; his head snaps back and he's down,
   reaching for his rifle.
   
   Tableau: Spence furious, ready to kick ass; Halliday
   wide-eyed, stunned into silence by Spence's move;
   Rosetti with blood on his mouth and his hand on his
   gun.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (to Rosetti; cocking
                   her gun)
             Try it.
   
   Hicks breaks the spell:
   
                       HICKS
                   (drill sergeant bellow)
             Two minute fuse! Hall ass people!
   
   The Lab Tech grabs Halliday, throws her over his
   shoulder, and runs. The others scramble after him,
   including Rosetti, whose drive to self-preservation is
   paramount. Hicks and Spence take up the rear.
   
   Hicks shoots her a grin as they run.
   
   LONG SHOT down the aisle of aeroponic greenery, high-
   tech Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the lifeboat party
   approaching. Behind them, the hatch lifts off ist
   hinges with the EXPLOSION, CRASHES back in a tangle of
   metal. Several of the party are thrown to the deck.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (quietly; urgently; as
                   the others pick
                   themselves up)
             Hicks!
   
                       HICKS
             Yeah?
   
                       JACKSON
             Look...
   
   She points down another aisle of aeroponic structures.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             What the hell's that?
   
   Two of the Styrofoam structures have been overgrown
   with a grayish parody of vegetation, glistening vine-
   like structures and bulbous sacs the echo the Alien
   biomech motif. Patches of thick black mold spread to
   the styrofoam and the white deck.
   
                       HICKS
             It was... cabbages or something...
   
                       TATSUMI
                   (with the others)
             Come, please, Jackson! Which way?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (gripping Hicks' arm;
                   pulling him along)
             Spence said it did her monkeys,
             too...
                   (raising her voice)
             Third door to the right!
   
   
   INT. TUNNEL NEAR FUSION PACKAGE
   
   Bishop comes loping down the tunnel, a certain
   effortless regularity evident in his run. Makes a turn
   into the chamber that houses the fusion package,
   Anchorpoint's power source. The chamber is spotless,
   well lit; the only sign of the current disaster is the
   smoke. The fusion package itself is no bigger than a
   Volkswagen bus, but it's obviously Anchorpoint's heart.
   Bishop climbs a narrow metal stairway to an overhanging
   control booth resembling the inverted turrent of a
   streamlined tank. A mirrored disk is mounted on the
   face of the armored hatch, above a small slot.
   
                       SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)
                   (bland feminine synthi-
                   voice)
             Please identify yourself.
   
   Bishop removes his dogtags. As he inserts one in the
   slot, he presses the palm on his other hand against the
   mirrored surface.
   
                       BISHOP
             Bishop, Science Officer, Hyperdyne
             A-slash-5, Mark 3, serial number
             PL3358172438. Permission to inspect
             software safety protocols.
   
                       SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)
             Permission denied. Inadequate rank.
             Please refer request to your
             immediate supervisor.
   
   The slot tries to reject his tag. He shove it back in.
   
                       BISHOP
             Emergency protocols. Code Theta
             Five Three. Authority Rosetti comma
             Shuman.
   
                       SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)
             Permission denied. Inadequate rank.
             Please refer request to your
             immediate supervisor.
   
   It ejects his tag. He drops his hand from the disk,
   stares at his reflection in the mirrored surface.
   Blinks. Re-inserts dog tags, palm on disk again.
   
                       BISHOP
             Emergency protocols. Code Theta
             Five Three. Authority Welles comma
             Fox.
   
   The door HISSES open instantly. He climbs in.
   
   
   INT. CONTROL BOOTH
   
   Surgically clean, unused - Jackson ordinarily runs the
   show from Operations. Bishop settles into the
   operator's chair, facing three blank monitors.
   
                       BISHOP
             Protocols, safety.
   
   The central screen displays an elaborate menu.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (continuing)
             Overload failsafes.
   
   The left screen displays a shorter menu.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (continuing)
             Bypass overload failsafes.
   
   A red light begins to flash.
   
                       SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)
             Permission denied. Inadequate rank.
             Please refer -
   
                       BISHOP
             Cancel request. Request display
             overload failsafe software.
   
                       SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)
             Permission denied. Inadequate rank.
             Please refer -
   
                       BISHOP
             Authority Welles comma Fox -
   
   The right screen displays an animated diagram,
   thousands of interweaving lines and symbols, moving
   ceaselessly, hypnotically. Bishop studies the screen
   with Zen calm, his hands poised like a pianist's above
   the keyboard.
   
   And makes his move, a cybernetic reprise of the knife
   sequence that introduced him in "ALIENS."  His fingers
   blur across the board with inhuman speed and accuracy
   as he races the fusion softwares's security system.
   
   The lines on the screen squirm and shift,  A "window"
   begins to open...
   
   Faster.
   
   Done.
   
   Bishop gazes at the screen with might be the android
   equivalent of postcoital satisfaction, eyes bright. The
   screen displays a message:
   
   "OVERLOAD OPTION RESET"
   
   He beings to reprogram the overload options.
   
   
   INT. RESIDENTAL (MARRIED CREW QUARTERS)
   
   A maze of walls, doors (most of them open). Lights are
   on, but the smoke is thicker. Coughing, choking,
   Jackson shoves past the others into a large communal
   kitchen. On an electric range, smoke pours from a pot.
   She grabs an extinguisher and blasts the pot's
   blackened contents, turns off the element. Smoke abates
   slightly.
   
   The quarters have an eerie Marie Celeste quality: food
   and drink on the table, a pack of cigarettes beside an
   ashtray. Spence pockets the cigarettes as she passes;
   Hicks opens a large white thermos: steam. He sloshes
   coffee into a cup and drinks.
   
   In the next room, a communal lounge, Spence leads
   Halliday to a couch and sinks down beside her, head in
   hands. Rosetti leans against an entertainment console,
   face blank, gingerly rubbing his split lip.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (head down)
             It's funny, but I had to win a
             contest to go through this. A
             science fair in Omaha, first in
             biology for all of Nebraska.
             Monoclonal antibodies...
                   (she looks up at
                   Rosetti)
             Then I got into Cornell. Another
             contest. It wasn't easy, getting
             out here. We all must've wanted it
             so bad, a whole generation, or
             anyway the ones like me.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (looks at her wearily)
             Idealists.
   
                       SPENCE
             Yeah. I guess so. Build a new
             world, find ways to live in it...
             But it wasn't supposed to be like
             this. And it might've worked. It
             almost did. Now look at it.
             Ending...
   
   She sits up and hugs Halliday, whose eyes are shut
   tight.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             What I want to know, mister, is why
             we had to bring you?
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (massages his temples,
                   then looks at her
                   levelly)
             Funding.
   
                       SPENCE
             Yeah. I guess you're right. You
             paid for it, I guess you get to
             fuck it up.
   
                       HICKS
                   (tossing her an apple)
             C'mon, time to move. Get her up?
   
                       SPENCE
             Sure.
   
   She gets Halliday unsteadily to her feet.
   
   They move out in a tight group, Jackson leading, Hicks
   taking up the rear, Spence biting resolutely into her
   apple.
   
   
   ANGLE THROUGH A DOORWAY - REACTION SHOT
   
   As Halliday's eyes fill with a new and deep horror.
   
   
   ANGLE - THE ROOM
   
   Is a preschool, a croche, scattered with toys, the
   walls tapes with children's paintings.
   
                       HALLIDAY
             O God...
   
   Spence and the Lab Tech hurry her on, out of the
   croche. Halliday snatches a ragdoll from a shelf as
   they pass...
   
   
   INT. TUNNEL AWAY FROM FUSION PACKAGE
   
   Bishop heads for the elevator shaft at his usual steady
   pace. Approaches the open doors cautiously. Listens.
   Nothing. He edges in. Empty. The circuit fire has died
   down; melted insulation still SPUTTERS. He looks up the
   shaft. A long climb. He can make out the bottom of the
   elevator. He reaches up, grabs a rung, sets his left
   boot on another, straightens up - and drives the jagged
   and of his broken knee joint through the side of his
   leg and the fabric of his fatigues in a gout of milky
   android blood. Hits the floor hard, the broken leg
   splayed at the hideous angle, the white fluid a
   widening pool.
   
   Struggles to brace his shoulders against the wall. And
   reaches out to touch the ragged edge of artificial
   bone.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (a scientific
                   observation)
             Polycarbon...
   
   
   INT. ENTRANCE TO FOOT OF MAINFRAME SERVICE SHAFT
   
   Leaving residential. Hicks and Jackson chivvy the party
   through a low, floor-level service hatch.
   
   
   INT. SERVICE SHAFT
   
   Party's POV, looking up: ladders, platforms, catwalks,
   bundles of fiberoptic lines linking the components of
   Achorpoint's computer mainframe, drifting smoke. The
   bundles loops of fiberoptics have a faint, pearlescent
   glow.
   
   Hicks, as usual is last up the ladder.
   
   
   INT. LADDERS IN SERVICE SHAFT - VARIOUS ANGLES
   
   The party, climbing. Halliday still has the ragdoll.
   Hicks up last.
   
   
   INT. PLATFORM IN SERVICE SHAFT
   
   The Marine guard from Ops emerges through a narrow
   opening, Spence and Halliday follow - and an Alien
   strikes from the shadows, ripping out his throat.
   Spence drives for his rifle as it skids across the
   platform. Screams from the ladder below. The gun slips
   through her fingers, over the edge - gone. Halliday
   cringes in a corner, cradling the ragdoll in her arms,
   as the Alien butchers the dead Marine, slashing the
   corpse to ribbons with its tail.
   
   It HISSES, turns its head. Spence freezes.
   
   
   INT. LADDER IN SERVICE SHAFT
   
   Hicks is desperately trying to fight his way past the
   others, climbing over them -
   
   
   INT. PLATFROM IN SERVICE SHAFT
   
   Spence snatches a drum of cable from a service cart and
   hurls it at the Alien, distracting it from Halliday.
   
   The beast springs toward Spence, bet she's already
   scrambling out along a fragile-looking catwalk that
   quakes with her passage. The Alien pursues her into the
   forest of cables with a hideous agility. Hicks clambers
   up through the opening, too late. Spence and the Alien
   are out of sight.
   
   
   INT. FIBEROPTIC FOREST
   
   Spence flattened against the mainframe, heart thumping,
   terrified. Takes a breath, look out between two glowing
   trunks of cable. Sees the Alien's back, fifteen feet
   away. She bites her lip and slips out, runs. It
   SCREECHES behind her. She blunders into another wall. A
   ladder. Up the rungs, fast.
   
   Into a short narrow space lit by a single blue
   emergency light. No way out. She moves forward, hands
   sliding over a jumble of containers. SOUND of the beast
   swarming up the ladder. She's below the blue bulb now,
   looks down at her hand on a flat plastic case stenciled
   "COLONIAL TRANS AP-49 FLARE SIGNAL OXY-ATMOSPHERIC
   20MM."  She tears at the catches -
   
   The beast is almost on her.
   
   She turns, bringing up the huge flare-pistol, and
   FIRES. The beast is blown backwards, off its feet, the
   igniting magnesium flare a white-hot chemical star
   burning in its guts as it flips back over the edge.
   
   
   INT. PLATFORM IN SERVICE SHAFT
   
   Hicks and the Lab Three see the burning Alien's fall as
   a weird pulse of light through the translucent cables.
   
                       LAB TECH
             What - ?
   
                       HICKS
                   (yells)
             Spence! Yo! Spence!
   
   Hicks crosses the catwalk, followed by the Lab Tech.
   
   Halliday stares after them over the head of her
   ragdoll.
   
   
   INT. PLATFORM IN SERVICE SHAFT
   
   The others have climbed up now. They watch Hicks, the
   Lab Tech, and Spence recross the catwalk. Spence has
   the flare-pistol around her neck on a lanyard.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (checks her watch)
             Okay, people! Gotta move it now.
             Start climbing!
   
                       HICKS
             Halliday!
   
   She rushes to the spot where we last saw Halliday. The
   ragdoll lies on the deck. Spence grabs it up, flings it
   instantly away at the touch of slime.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (screaming)
             No! No!
   
   Hicks pulls an olive-drab aerosol unit fro his medical
   pack and drenches her hand with spray.
   
                       HICKS
             Jackson's right. We gotta move.
   
   Rosetti is already starting up the ladder.
   
   
   INT. ELEVATOR SHAFT
   
   Bishop, climbing. He has his web belt cinched tight
   around his left thigh. The splintered bone is out of
   sight; the leg of his fatigues, below the belt, is
   soaked with fluid. He uses his arms and right leg to
   climb, the left leg swaying free - grotesquely, in too
   many directions, like the limb of a broken puppet.
   
   He shows signs of stress. The right knee might break at
   the next rung... He places it carefully, taking up most
   of his weight on his arms.
   
   He checks his watch.
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP: "2140 HOURS"
   
   
   BISHOP'S POV - UP THE SHAFT
   
   It looks like forever.
   
   
   INT. SERVICE SHAFT
   
   Jackson uses a pistol-grip power-driver to unscrew a
   ventilator grill. Hicks shines his light into the
   opening, then crawls in. Jackson follows, then
   Rosetti...
   
   
   INT. DUCT
   
   Hands and knees, single file and barely room for that.
   Hicks has his flashlight clipped bayonet-style to his
   rifle. Jackson behind him, her cap reversed.
   
                       HICKS
             How we doin'?
   
   Jackson stops crawling; flips open her map, her
   features visible in the glow of the tiny screen.
   
                       JACKSON
             Looks like another ten meters. Then
             we're into K-58-A and straight to
             the boat bays.
   
                       ROSETTI (V.O.)
                   (hollow echo)
             Move! Hurry!
   
                       HICKS
             Yes, sir.
   
   They move forward.
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR - DUCT EXIT
   
   Hicks and Jackson prepare to pull the others one at a
   time from the waist-high opening. It's evident that the
   duct, at this point, slants sharply down from the
   opening; it's round and smooth and difficult to climb.
   
   
   INT. DUCT
   
   From below, members of the party wedge their way up
   with knees and elbows.
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR - DECT EXIT
   
   Hicks and Jackson pull Rosetti from the duct, both his
   hands locked around his pulse-rifle; then the Lab Tech;
   then Spence; they reach the Tatsumi...
   
   SCREAMS and frenzied BANGING from the duct. Tatsumi's
   eyes pop wide open and he screams. Hicks braces his
   boot against the wall and hauls him out - with the jaws
   of a freshly-transformed new beast locked on his leg.
   Hicks whirls his rifle like an axe, the butt slamming
   into the thing's head. It HISSES and twists back into
   the duct.
   
   
   INT. DUCT - POV OF THE TRAPPED FIVE
   
   As the beast slides toward them down smooth steel.
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR - DUCT EXIT
   
   Rosetti thrusts the barrel out of his pulse-rifle past
   Hicks, into the duct, and FIRES on full auto, emptying
   his magazine. Jackson drives for the gun as Hicks snaps
   him off his feet with a roundhouse punch. The back of
   Rosetti's head slams against the opposite wall and he
   slides to the deck.
   
   Jackson's on him before he can recover, practically
   jamming the muzzle of the pulse-rifle down his throat.
   
                       JACKSON
             Y'know, always been part of me
             wanted to kill one of you
             motherfuckers...
   
   Rosetti looks up at her.
   
                       ROSETTI
             Go ahead.
   
   Very quiet. No sound at all from the duct. Tatsumi
   whimpers between clenched teeth as a wisp of acid smoke
   rises from his torn trouser leg. Hicks shines his light
   down into the duct.
   
                       HICKS
             Oh man... Forget it, Jackson.
             Anyway, it's empty.
   
   He tosses her a fresh magazine.
   
                       SPENCE
             Hicks! The light!
   
   She and the Lab Tech are crouching beside Tatsumi,
   slitting his pantleg with a knife, exposing the wound.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             Watch out, it's on the cloth...
   
   The Lab Tech yelps as a droplet of acid touches his
   hand. Hicks unclips his light and passes it to Spence.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             On my God...
   
   The Alien has taken a bite the size of a small
   grapefruit out of Tatsumi's calf; flesh and muscle are
   blackened, charred by the acid.
   
                       HICKS
                   (unclipping a flat
                   plastic kit from his
                   harness)
             What's his name?
   
                       JACKSON
             Tatsumi...
   
                       HICKS
             Cocktail for ya, Tatsumi.
   
   He opens the kit, takes out a gun-shaped hypo with a
   pressure tank.
   
                       HICKS
                   (continuing)
             Can't get this on the Ginza, fella.
             Six times stronger than heroin,
             about eight other things in there
             to keep you up an' rockin'...
   
   He jabs the needle through Tatsumi's pantleg; the unit
   HISSES.
   
                       HICKS
                   (continuing)
             Get a Marine a year in the brig,
             playin' R&R with one of these...
   
   Tatsumi moan softly as the shot hits him. Very clearly,
   in Japanese, he asks if it's time to go back on duty.
   
                       LAB TECH
             Wha'd he say?
   
                       SPENCE
             I don't know...
   
                       HICKS
             We'll have to carry him.
                   (passes Spence a
                   sterile dressing pack
                   from his harness)
             Think you can get a dressing on
             that? Not bleeding much. Like it's
             cauterized.
                   (to Rosetti)
             Get up, we're moving.
                   (to Jackson)
             Think you better hang on to the
             Colonel's rifle.
   
   
   INT. MALL - ENTERANCE TO FREIGHT ELEVATOR
   
   The doors look as though someone's gone after them with
   a giant can opener; they're ragged, gaping. Bishop's
   hands suddenly appear in the opening in the floor, grip
   the edge; he hauls himself up, arms quivering with
   strain. Last thing through is the useless leg; he has
   to pull it up with both hands.
   
   He looks anxiously out into the mall. Nothing moving,
   no Aliens in sight. The queen's attack as torn loose a
   strip of alloy trim. Bishop bends it double for
   strength and begins to work it beneath the belt around
   his thigh, still keeping an eye on the mall.
   
   
   INT. CORRIDOR TO ASSEMBLY POINT - LIFEBOAT BAY
   
   Hicks and Jackson slogging along, dragging Tatsumi
   between them, Spence with the flare pistol, then
   Rosetti and the Lab Tech. Smoke hangs in strata.
   
   Spence coughs. They're all feeling Anchorpoint's fire-
   depleted oxygen-level.
   
   Tatsumi looks terrible: flushed, eyes glazed, but he's
   feeling no pain. He weakly attempts to sing a snatch of
   a Japanese pop song.
   
   CLOSEUP on his bandaged leg leaving a trail of yellow
   drops...
   
                       LAB TECH
             That's right, man. Not long now.
   
                       HICKS
             Hey, Jackson - Goddamn, you were
             right.
   
   He's pointing his pulse-rifle at a plastic sign mounted
   on the corridor wall:
   
   
   LIFEBOAT BAY 20 METERS
   
                       JACKSON
                   (grins)
             Sure. Hadda map, didn't I?
   
   They round a corner. Ahead is one of the blue lights
   and another sign:
   
   
   LIFEBOAT LAUNCH ASSEMBLY POINT
   
                       SPENCE
             The others groups... Where's
             everybody else?
   
                       HICKS
             Hell, they coulda launched
             already...
   
                       JACKSON
             No.
   
   She's looking at a wall panel with LEDs that indicate
   launch status of the lifeboats.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             The boats are all here.
   
                       LAB TECH
             Then nobody else made it...
   
   Rosetti ignores them, keeps walking.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (looking after Rosetti)
             I shoulda greased him.
   
                       HICKS
             Shit. What's the point?
   
                       JACKSON
             The point? The point's he let 'em
             run their fucking experiments! He
             coulda stopped 'em! But he didn't!
             You tried, man, you and Bishop...
             He let 'em do it!
   
                       HICKS
             Shit no. He's just brass. He's just
             like you an' me, to the people who
             brought this down. Wouldn't do any
             good to grease them either.
   
                       JACKSON
             Bullshit! What not?
   
                       HICKS
             Because what you wanna grease is
             the company...
   
   Rosetti breaks into a stumbling run as he nears the
   portal at the end of the corridor, the entrance to the
   lifeboat bays.
   
   
   CLOSEUP - ROSETTI
   
   Frantically punching a combination. Wants that door to
   open. Gets it: slides back smooth as silk, revealing a
   brightly lit room filled with pristine space gear and
   an indeterminate number of Aliens, their appendages
   tangled black and shiny as a fresh catch of eels.
   
                       ROSETTI
             No! Goddamn it! No!
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   The Aliens stir as he throws himself back down the
   corridor toward the others. Hicks drops Tatsumi, who
   sags into Jackson's arms, and raises his rifle.
   
   FIRES a bolt past Rosetti, into the heart of the mass.
   Rosetti claws his way by as Spence lets loose with the
   flare-pistol. All the ammo she has but it's a big red
   distress flare straight through the portal; it bursts,
   crimson lightning, scattering the Aliens. Now everyone
   is backing down the corridor, the way they came,
   Jackson burdened with Tatsumi. Rosetti fumbles with the
   combination on another door. Hicks is SHOOTING as he
   retreats. Aliens come darting out past the dying cherry
   brilliance of the flare, SCREAMING down the corridor...
   The second door open for Rosetti - he's through, the
   second Lab Tech on his heels.
   
   
   INT. AN OFFICE
   
   Dark - only light from the corridor, even less are
   Rosetti immediately tries to slam and lock the door in
   Spence's face - but the Lab Tech yanks him out of the
   way. The others tumble in, Jackson with Tatsumi in a
   fireman's carry.
   
   Hicks kicks the door shut and locks it - as something
   SLAMS into it, hard. Jackson lowers Tatsumi to the
   carpeted floor.
   
   Hicks CLICKS the light on. Swings the muzzle of his gun
   around the room, circle of light jumping from one thing
   to the next. An office, larger than Rosetti's. 21st-
   century stylistics and a basic bureaucratic banality:
   fake teak, imitation leather. Framed portraits of
   beaming Weyland Yutani bigshots.
   
   Spence brushes a square object of a shelf - the base of
   a small hologram-projector. A glowing DNA helix springs
   up.
   
                       HICKS
             Don't touch anything...
   
                       LAB TECH
                   (to Jackson, pointing
                   at Rosetti)
             He tried to lock the door, lock us
             out...
   
                       JACKSON
                   (pulling the automatic
                   from her jacket)
             Rosetti...
   
                       HICKS
             Forget it. That's what he wants.
             You really wanna do 'im the favor?
   
                       JACKSON
             Waddya mean it's what he wants?
   
                       HICKS
             I've seen it before. In combat.
   
   Rosetti backs away from them.
   
                       SPENCE (V.O.)
             Hick, come here... I think it's
             Trent...
   
   He finds her around the corner of a padded partition
   that screens a desk-console from the rest of the room.
   His light finds the lab-coated corpse sprawled in the
   chair behind the desk, a quarter of its skull blown
   away, dried blood spattered across the bulkhead, a
   service automatic locked in rigid fingers.
   
                       HICKS
                   (shrugs)
             Did himself. Hey, Rosetti! C'mere!
   
   Rosetti looks around the edge of the partition, sees
   Trent.
   
                       HICKS
                   (continuing)
             That's it, man. That's what it
             looks like. You don't chill out
             quick, somebody'll do the same for
             you.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (stares at the corpse)
             Brilliant man. Company man. Very...
             ambitious.
   
   Hicks takes the light off the corpse, plays it around
   the cubicle. A shredder, empty file folders, a bulging
   plastic sack of shredded documents.
   
                       HICKS
             Yeah...
   
   Hicks swings the light across the wall behind Trent's
   desk.
   
                       SPENCE
             The wall, Hicks!
   
   She's spooked him; the safety's off the pulse-rifle.
   But there's nothing on the wall, only framed diplomas,
   and between them a few stenciled letters...
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             Jesus Christ! It's a lock, Hicks!
             Airlock!
   
   She clambers over the desk console, shoves the corpse
   out the way, and tears the diplomas from the wall,
   revealing the outline of a hatch and the stenciled
   notice:
   
   
   EMERGENCY AIRLOCK - EXIT TO HULL-SECTOR 308
   
   A CRASH from the corridor as Alien hurls itself against
   the door.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing)
             It's a chance! The only chance
             we've got! We get out on the hull,
             cross to the boats. We can try to
             get into one that way, from
             outside...
   
   Hicks looks down at his watch. "2146 HOURS". If
   Bishop's managed to set the fusion package to blow at
   2200 hours - they don't have a hope in hell.
   
   But why spoil it for Spence?
   
                       HICKS
             Let's go for it.
   
   Spence hauls on the red airline-style inset handle of
   the emergency airlock. The handle flips down and the
   hatch pivots smoothly open, a light inside goes on, and
   the eternal synthi-voice announces:
   
   
   ANNONCEMENT
   
   This is a five-man emergency atmosphere lock, exit to
   Hull Sector Three-oh-eight, equipped with five Mark
   Twelve emergency suits. Each Mark Twelve suit is
   charged with a two-hour air supply and is equipped with
   automatic radar beacon, inter-suit radio, and magnetic
   sole plates. It you should experience difficulty with
   either the O-rings of the velcro strips, please
   activate the secondary program for additional advice.
   
                       JACKSON
             There's six of us...
   
   Space suits swings from a rack, each helmet a different
   color. Rosetti's pressed up close behind her, eyes
   fixed on the suits.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing)
             Fuck off, Rosetti; anybody stays,
             it's you
   
                       LAB TECH (O.S.)
             Light, quick! Something's...
   
   The Lab Tech is backing away from Tatsumi, who lies on
   his back on the carpeted deck, mouth gaping, eyes
   showing whites. A tearing SOUND as Hicks spotlights
   Tatsumi's bandaged leg - where the dressing is bulging,
   moving, seeping yellow fluid. A new-model chest-buster
   flails its way out of the wound and shuttles into the
   shadows beneath a chair. Twin red spots appear on
   Tatsumi's white shirt; two more of the things rip their
   way out through his stomach as he arches backwards,
   groaning - the groan cut off as a fourth chest-burster
   pops from his mouth...
   
   Jackson brings her pistol up with both hands, arms
   locked, and SHOOTS Tatsumi in the head.
   
                       HICKS
             Get in the lock! Suit up!
   
   
   INT. EMERGENCY LOCK
   
   Hicks pulls the inner door shut. The lock is white,
   bright, a very tight fit for the five of them. The Lab
   Tech reaches for one of the hanging suits, yells as a
   blood-slick chest-burster loses its grip and tumbles
   out of the suit's open front.
   
                       LAB TECH
             Aaaaah!
   
   Hicks shoulders the door - just a crack; it doesn't
   want to open - as Rosetti grabs a helmet and swings it
   underhand, knocking the little horror out of the lock.
   Hicks gets the door shut again.
   
   Spence is shuddering. Rosetti is putting the helmet on,
   reaching for his suit.
   
                       SPENCE
             J-Jesus, Rosetti... How'd you do
             that?
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (beat)
             I used to be a soldier
   
   They hurriedly strip to their underwear and struggle
   into space suits. Rosetti has the yellow helmet, Hicks
   red, Spence blue, Jackson green, and Lab Tech orange.
   
   Spence is sealing up her space suit over freckles and a
   military-issue bra; Hicks sealing his over dog tags and
   his acid-scarred chest.
   
   
   ANNOUNCEMENT
   
   Please be seated. Fasten lapbelts.
   
   Narrow ledges on either side of the lock. The five sit,
   step in. Spence and the Lab Tech closest to the outer
   door. Hicks and Jackson are opposite them.
   
                       ROSETTI
                   (filter; suit radio;
                   turning his helmet to
                   face Spence)
             You're right, Spence. I should have
             tried to stop them. It would have
             done no good, of course, but I
             should have tried...
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             When we get back, there'll be a
             board of inquiry. You can tell
             them, Colonel, tell them what
             happened. Help them find the ones
             who were responsible...
   
   
   ANNOUNCEMENT
   
   Ten-second warning. Activating outer hatch.
   
   Rosetti's helmet turns slowly toward her. Through his
   faceplate bubble, the canceled eyes and blood-streaked
   drool of the Change...
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             He gone! Jeeees-us!
   
   As blood wells up into Rosetti's helmet, filling it
   completely, and something dark begins to strike the
   inner surface of his faceplate, violently, again and
   again. The space suit hunches through inhuman postures
   -
   
   As the outer hatch pivots out on hydraulics, the vacuum
   sucking small loose objects out into the void.
   
   The new beast in Rosetti's suit snaps the heavy nylon
   lapbelt and lunges at Spence.
   
   
   HER POV
   
   As the blood-bubble strikes her faceplate, the fanged
   tongue working like a piledriver, starting to split the
   tough plastic of Rosetti's faceplate - tiny bubbles of
   blood along the first hairline crack.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   The Lab Tech unfastens his lapbelt and grapples with
   the suited beast, pulling it off Spence.
   
   Hicks is wrestling with his pulse-rifle, pinned to the
   bench by the struggle.
   
   The suit radios are filled with the beast's thick
   gurgling ROAR. As it turns on the Lab Tech, flings him
   out through the open hatch, and bounds after him.
   
   
   EXT. HULL - AIRLOCK
   
   Vacuum. Zero gravity.
   
   The thing in Rosetti's suit catches the Lab Tech in mid-
   tumble, its gloved hands spread like talons, grips the
   Lab Tech's helmet and collar-joint in either hand, and
   rips his helmet off. Air explodes from the neck of his
   suit, lifting his air in a three-second gale that
   freezes instantly, becoming a small cloud of ice
   crystal. The Lab Tech's eyes are frozen marbles. He
   goes cartwheeling slowly across the hull as the beast
   grabs a protruding strut and spins to dace the airlock
   with a terrible balletic grace.
   
   Hicks is in the hatchway. He raises. the pulse-rifle,
   pulls the trigger. The ammo-counter flashes 00, empty.
   Jackson reaches past him with a fresh magazine. Hicks
   slaps it into the gun as the beast launches itself
   toward him from the strut. He FIRES. The space suit
   EXPLODES in a cloud of blood and acid.
   
   Hicks bounces awkwardly out over the rim of the hatch,
   followed by Jackson and Spence.
   
   Beat. Anchorpoint's hull stretches away to its own
   horizon, al flat gray expanse of broken by various
   structures. The body of the Lab Tech is tumbling slowly
   out into space.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio;
                   looking after the
                   vanishing Lab Tech)
             I never even knew his name...
             Hicks... Hicks, are we gonna make
             it?
   
   Hick's gloved hands is closed around something small.
   He open it, looks down. His watch. "2159 HOURS"
   
   Hicks looks into her eyes as if he sees her for the
   first time.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Make it? Yeah... Sure we make it.
   
   He gives her a desperate grin.
   
   His gloved hand, still holding the watch, takes her.
   
   SOUND of the watch's alarm: "2200 HOURS"
   
   Hicks' eyes are shut tight.
   
   Nothing happens.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Hicks? Hicks, are you okay? What is
             it?
   
   He opens his eyes. Looks at her. Releases her hand.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP ON WATCH
   
   "2201 HOURS"
   
   
   ANGLE
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             You okay?
   
   Hicks flings with watch away. It tumbles out slowly,
   level with the deck, keeps tumbling...
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Okay, Ops, which way to the boats?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Got me, man. The map was just for
             the inside...
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             See that radio mast? Let's try that
             way.
   
   They set out in single-file across the hull, Hicks
   leading, Jackson bringing up the rear. The radio mast,
   visible above the horizon, is the tallest structure in
   sight, a steel thorn slanted toward the stars.
   
   Behind them, the airlock remain open, spilling light...
   
   
   EXT. HULL - LONG SHOT
   
   Three tiny figures, their helmets bright dots of color
   against the monotone hull-plain: red, blue, green.
   
   VOICE OVER: Steady rasp of human breath.
   
   
   EXT. HULL - ANOTHER ANGLE - LONG
   
   Shadows tangle in the light from the lock. Moving.
   Black talons slip over the hatch rim, followed by an
   eyeless Alien mask. Then another. The creatures are
   entirely unaffected by cold, by vacuum...
   
   
   EXT. HULL - APPROACH TO LIFEBOAT BAYS
   
   Hicks, Spence, Jackson. Hicks gestures with his rifle:
   the prows of the boats.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             There you go, Ops.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Good navigating...
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Good guessing. Still have to get
             into one of the damn things...
   
   Spence loses her footing as she climbs down a ledge,
   goes into a slow-motion, zero-g roll; Jackson grabs
   her.
   
   
   EXT. HULL - SHOT FROM UNLIT LIFEBOAT INTERIOR THROUGH A
   PORTHOLE
   
   Hicks is approaching. Closer. His gloves on the
   porthole. His helmet-bubble CLICKS against it. The beam
   of his light stabs in, swings from side to side, blinks
   out.
   
   
   EXT. HULL - LIFEBOAT BAYS
   
   Hicks straightens up from the porthole.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Looks good. Good as it gets. How
             the hell we get in?
             
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             I can run a bypass on the hatch
             latches, but I need a hotwire...
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio;
                   starting to climb up
                   the side of the boat)
             I can strip some cable off the
             solar cells...
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Open it that way and we lose the
             air.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             We'll have to draw the backup off
             the tanks. Won't matter once we're
             in hypersleep. No other way...
   
   
   EXT. TOP OF LIFEBOAT
   
   Spence's POV for helmet as the crouches over a flat,
   rectangular solar cells and tugs with her gloves tips
   at a small access port. She keeps losing her grip; the
   space suit's gloves aren't designed for fine work.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio;
                   talking to keep her
                   head together)
             Like the science fair. I had to
             scrounge everything... Spent a
             month desoldering a TV I got out of
             my uncle's basement...
   
   She manages to get the cover off - it tumbles backward
   - upward - with the momentum on its removal. Spence
   peers at a densely packed mass of color-coded wiring.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing; filter;
                   suit radio)
             Hey, Jackson, you want anything in
             particular?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             How about twenty centimeters of the
             red and green stuff?
   
   Spence begins to fumble with the wiring.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Right. Want anything else while I'm
             here?
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Coffee and a danish. Black, one
             sugar.
   
   
   EXT. HULL - LIFEBOAT
   
   Hicks and Jackson are trying to open the larger
   accessport, this one beside a porthole set into a
   rectangular hatch in the bow of the lifeboat. It isn't
   easy. Hicks manages to hook the pulse-rifle's buttplate
   under the edge of the cover. He uses the barrel as a
   lever. The buttplate slips.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Shit.
   
   He tries again. The cover pops open: move wiring,
   hydraulics. Jackson begins to paw at the wiring.
   
   
   EXT. TOP OF LIFEBOAT
   
   Spence's POV as she looks down at her prize, a length
   of red and green wire.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             They're out of coffee, but I got
             you hotwire...
   
   Spence's POV as she glances up, across the hull - and
   sees a dozen advancing Aliens.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (continuing; filter;
                   suit radio)
             Hicks! They're coming! They don't
             need suits!
   
   
   EXT. HULL - LIFEBOAT
   
   Hicks whirls around with the rifle, too quick a move
   for zero-g; momentum spins him around and he rolls, out
   past the prow, but manages to come up SHOOTING. Take
   out the two foremost Aliens at about twenty yards. The
   rest scuttle for cover.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP
   
   On ammo readout: 09.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   Hicks gets to his feet, take a step back, and nearly
   tumbles again; he's bumped into another emergency
   airlock, this one still sealed. He climbs back across
   it and crouches against the raised housing, using it to
   steady his aim. The Aliens charge again. Five SHOTS,
   five Aliens blown apart. The rest get out of sight.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP
   
   On ammo readout: 04.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   Six inches from Hick's faceplate, on the airlock hatch,
   a red light blinks on. The lock starts to open. Hicks
   scrambles back, the rifle ready at his hip, as the
   hatch opens - and a space-suited figure straightens up,
   a yellow helmet...
   
   
   CLOSEUP - HICKS - REACTION SHOT
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio; an
                   instant of profound
                   confusion)
             Rosett...?
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   The Aliens charge. The figure turns, bringing up a
   pulse-rifle.
   
   
   CLOSEUP ON BISHOP - THROUGH FACEPLATE
   
   As he hoses a full clip in to the Aliens, killing them
   all.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Hicks, help me out of the lock...
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   Hicks takes Bishop's arm and hauls him over the rim;
   the android's left leg is braced with the length of
   metal from the elevator, strapped to the space suit
   with heavy silver tape.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             What happened? You didn't blow the
             fusion back at twenty-two hundred,
   
   Bishop passes him a fresh clip of ammunition.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Two overload is scheduled for
             twenty-two-thirty.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Why?
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             I thought you might need the time.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Bishop? Hick! Come on, we gotta get
             his happening!
   
   Hicks help Bishop across the hull.
   
   
   EXT. HULL - LIFEBOAT
   
   CLOSEUP on Spence and Jackson crouching by the open
   service port. They've made a rainbow spaghetti out of
   the port's wiring, but Jackson holds one raw end of the
   hotwire. Spence looks up as Hicks and Bishop arrive.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             What happened to you leg?
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Molecular fatigue.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Bishop says we gotta go now.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (filter; suit radio)
             No shit... Well...
   
   She thrusts the hotwire against a contact, producing a
   burst of sparks.
   
   Nothing happens.
   
   Tries again.
   
   Nothing.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing; filter;
                   suit radio)
             Third time's a charm.
   
   A bigger burst of sparks. The hatch suddenly pops open
   with a rush of escaping AIR.
   
                       JACKSON
                   (continuing; filter;
                   suit radio)
             How damn! Okay!
   
   Jackson ducks, wedges helmet and shoulder through the
   opening - and a queen-sized stinger erupts through the
   back of her neck, slicing the suit's alloy collar ring
   like butter. Brief but horrible SOUND on radio.
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Jackson!
   
   Jackson's being drawn into the opening by the unseen
   queen. Spence clutches furiously at Jackson's suit,
   trying to pull her back...
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Forget it! She's gone!
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Hicks!
   
   Hicks and Spence turn. REACTION SHOT. What they see
   makes her forget trying to save Jackson's body.
   
   The boots of Jackson's space suit vanishes through the
   lifeboat hatch.
   
   A queen, her crest rising against the stars, leads the
   swarm against them in a solid wave...
   
   Hicks pumps the pulse-rifle's grenade launcher, sheer
   reflex, no consideration for the effect of recoil in
   zero-g (pulse-charges have been assumed to be
   recoilless). The recoil kick him back against the
   lifeboat as the BLAST takes out five of the charging
   Aliens; sharp CLANG of his helmet against the boat's
   hull.
   
   
   CLOSE THROUGH FACEPLACE
   
   Hicks losing consciousness.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   Bishop stands alone against the advancing swarm, the
   boot of his locked suitleg wedge into a narrow channel
   in the hull. He FIRES with a robotic accuracy, the
   rifle pivoting like the barrel of an automated gun
   turret.
   
   
   CLOSE ON BISHOP'S EXPRESSION
   
   No anger, no fear - just total absorption in the task
   at hand.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   Spence had Hicks' gun, is dragging him to his feet.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP
   
   On Bishop's ammo readout: working down to 01, steady as
   seconds on a stopwatch -
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   His last round is for the towering queen - Android's
   don't miss. Straight into the jaws. Her head explodes.
   
   But the headless body doesn't stop. It stumbles,
   tumbling forward, flips over, the vast abdomen with its
   lashing stinger outlined agasint the stars...
   
   As Bishop tugs his wedged foot free and rolls, as the
   stinger whips down to gouge a chunk of bright steel
   from the hull. The carcass smashed into the lifeboat.
   
   The swarm twitches, hesitates. With the loss of the
   queen's unifying intelligence, the Aliens are reduced
   to their usual level of instinctual action.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Bishop! Come on!
   
   Hicks, with Spence, is fleeing across the hull, taking
   long zero-g leaps - one more worries about drifting
   away!
   
                       SPENCE
                   (filter; suit radio)
             The mast, Bishop! The Radio mast!
   
   Bishop starts after them, abandoning his empty pulse-
   rifle, trying to bound along on his good leg, the stiff
   one obviously in his way, three Aliens rapidly gaining
   on him. He loses his balance...
   
   Hicks and Spence have almost reached the foot of the
   radio mast. Handholds lead out to the tip.
   
   Hicks sees Bishop struggling to right himself, the
   Aliens closing in. Snatches the rifle from Spence.
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio; to
                   Spence)
             Go on! Get out there!
   
   Hicks recrosses the hull to Bishop. SHOOTS the nearest
   Alien, gets a grip on Bishop's suit, pulls him up,
   tries for the second Alien but misses. They start for
   the mast, Hicks FIRING back at the swarm.
   
   Spence is a third of the way out on the mast, body
   drifting in space, clinging to a handhold.
   
   Hick and Bishop haul themselves hand-over-hand along
   the mast.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             The fusion package, Hicks...
             Overload...
   
                       HICKS
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Yeah... But it means we win... Come
             on.
   
   The swarm closes around the foot of the mast in a
   single writhing mass. One spring onto the handholds and
   scuttles out along the mast like a spider.
   
   Hicks BLOWS it off.
   
   
   EXTREME CLOSEUP
   
   On ammo readout: 04.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (filter; suit radio)
             Four minutes to overload.
   
   
   ANGLE
   
   Hicks blasts another Alien - as a deafening SQUAWK of
   feedback rattles the suit radios, followed by a waves
   of STATIC.
   
   
   EXT. SPACE
   
   The U.P.P. interceptor, pitted and scorched by the
   nuking of Rodina, settles toward Anchorpoint on
   steering jets.
   
   
   CLOSEUP ON A GUNPORT
   
   Sliding smoothly open, reveal the vicious-looking snout
   of a Gatling-style pulse-cannon.
   
   
   EXT. MAST - FROM HICKS' POV
   
   As a stream of withering fire cuts a swathe thorough
   the swarming Aliens.
   
                       VIETNAMESE COMMANDO
                       (V.O.)
                   (filter; over static
                   and screaming
                   harmonics)
             Come! You come!
   
   Followed by a frantic burst in her own language.
   
   
   EXT. SPACE - FROM MAST
   
   Spence's POV as the interceptor nears the mast tip, the
   cannon still pumping. The airlock in the interceptor's
   lower surface slides open. Light from inside.
   
   Spence kicks off from the mast, manages to grab the rim
   of the interceptor's airlock.
   
   Hicks FIRES his last round into an Alien on the mast.
   
   The interceptor still coming down, crumpling the tip of
   the mast in a burst of sparks as Hicks and Bishop kick
   off. Hicks grabs Spence's free hand; Bishop grabs
   Hick's ankle. Spence hauls them all into the cramped
   space of the airlock. The lock closes as an Alien
   launches itself from the mast...
   
   
   INT. INTERCEPTOR AIRLOCK
   
   SOUND of the Alien as it slams into the lock. Hicks,
   Bishop, Spence are crammed in like sardines.
   
   
   EXT. INTERCEPTOR LOCK
   
   The Alien scrabbling furiously for a hold...
   
   
   INT. INTERCEPTOR
   
   As the inner lock opens and the commando plunges her
   tattooed arms in to yank Spence free. Spence fumbles
   with her helmet and snaps it off. Bishop pulls himself
   from the lock; in spite of his leg, he dives for the
   ship's controls. His hands dart from one switchboard to
   the next. Nothing happens. He look up through his
   faceplate at the commando.
   
                       BISHOP
                   (voice muffled by his
                   helmet)
             Go!
   
   She looks at him impassively. Beat. Then reaches past
   to press a sequence of three buttons.
   
   
   EXT. SPACE
   
   The interceptor. The Aliens cluster like aphids along
   the mast. The interceptor's ENGINES erupt in a gout of
   flame.
   
   
   EXT. SPACE - ANOTHER ANGLE
   
   The Alien on the airlock loses its grip, tumbles into
   the rocket blast.
   
   
   EXT. ANCHORPOINT - INTERCEPTOR'S POV
   
   The station is receding
   
   The fusion package goes overload.
   
   WHITEOUT
   
   Beat.
   
                                               FADE TO
                                               BLACK
                                               
                                               FADE IN:
   
   
   A SINGLE STAR
   
   Then another star. Then the interceptor, adrift,
   showing no lights.
   
   
   EXT. INTERCEPTOR - ANOTHER ANGLE
   
   Additional damage visible from the Anchorpoint blast.
   
   
   INT. INTERCEPTOR
   
   Dim light. The commando is slumped against a wall of
   dead switches, watching Bishop. Hick, Spence, and
   Bishop wear their space suits, minus helmets and air
   tanks. Bishop is bending over a panel of exposed
   circuitry, working with a delicate probe. His suit is
   open to the waist; he wears a miniature worklight on a
   band across his forehead. Spence is asleep, her head on
   Hicks' lap.
   
                       HICKS
             Bishop...
   
   Bishop looks up, the beam of the worklight glaring in
   Hicks' eyes.
   
                       BISHOP
             Yes?
   
                       HICKS
             Bishop, are Spence and I... I
             mean... Are we infected, man?
   
   A small steady tone SOUNDS, muffled inside Bishop's
   suit. He puts the probe down and reaches into his suit,
   bringing out his wristwatch.
   
   He looks at the time. The tone stops. He puts the watch
   down an looks at Hicks. Beat.
   
                       BISHOP
             No, you aren't. I obtained solid
             parameters on the incubation
             period... Neither of you is a
             carrier. Neither is she.
                   (glancing toward the
                   commando)
             Although I couldn't be certain
             until...
   
                       HICKS
             Your watch? Until you watch went
             off?
   
                       BISHOP
             Yes.
   
   Bishop reaches into his suit again and brings out a
   service automatic.
   
   The commando says something angrily, wearily, in her
   own language.
   
   Bishop hands her the gun. She tosses it aside with
   evident disgust, curls up, eyes closed.
   
                       HICKS
             That was for us? If we were...
   
                       BISHOP
             Yes.
                   (he looks at the
                   commando again)
             She's dying, Hicks. Radiation
             poisoning...
   
                       HICKS
             Can we do anything?
   
                       BISHOP
             No.
   
   Spence groans in her sleep. Hicks absently smoothes her
   hair back from her eyes.
   
                       BISHOP
             You're a species again, Hicks.
             United against a common enemy...
   
   Hicks moves Spence's head, pillows her on a folded
   jacket, swings his way over to the commando, offers her
   water from a plastic bottle. She refuses it.
   
                       HICKS
             Yeah?
   
                       BISHOP
             The source, Hicks. You'll have to
             trace them back, find the point of
             origin. The first source. And
             destroy it.
   
                       HICKS
             I dunno, Bishop. Maybe we just
             oughta stay out of their way...
   
                       BISHOP
             You can't, Hicks. This goes far
             beyond mere interspecies
             competition. These creatures are to
             biological life what antimatter is
             to matter.
   
                       HICKS
             How do you mean?
   
                       BISHOP
             There isn't room for the both of
             you, Hicks, not in this universe.
   
                       HICKS
             That's crazy, Bishop...
   
                       BISHOP
             No. You're already at war, Hicks.
             War to extermination. The alien
             knows no other mode.
   
                       HICKS
             Hell, man, we been at war all my
             life. Near enough, anyway. With
             her.
                   (he looks down at the
                   commando)
             With all her brothers and sisters.
             That's what got us into this shit
             in the first place!
   
                       BISHOP
             But now you've seen the enemy,
             Hicks. So has she. She's not it.
             Neither are you. This is a
             Darwinian universe, Hicks. Will the
             alien be the ultimate survivor?
   
   Hicks doesn't answer. He just looks at Bishop. Bishop
   goes back to his circuitry.
   
   CLOSE on Spence's sleeping face, and the face of the
   dying commando.
   
                                               DISSOLVE
                                               TO:
   
   
   EXT. SPACE
   
   Approach of a large ship.
   
   The PING of homing radar.
   
   
   ANGLE ON THE HULL
   
   As it slides past, enormous letters: "KANSAS CITY"
   
   
   EXT. SPACE - ANGLE UP
   
   From below Kansas City as a wide bay opens.
   
   The interceptor comes INTO FRAME and is drawn up into
   the brightly-lit hold.
   
   The bay closes.
   
   
   EXT. SPACE
   
   Kansas City. Receding. Gone.
   
   The stars.
   
                                               FADE OUT
   
   
   
   THE END