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From Olof Lindqvist...
The Alien III script by Gibson. This is _not_ how the actual Alien3 movie
came out, this is a script that was abandoned during the script writings.
It is nice, though. Inconsistent in quite some ways, but nice.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"A L I E N I I I"
by
William Gibson
Revised first draft screenplay
from a story by David Giler and Walter Hill
______________________________________________________________________________
FADE IN:
DEEP SPACE - THE FUTURE
The silent field of stars -- eclipsed by the dark bulk of an approaching
ship. CLOSER.
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 c
ourse 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 o
pen.
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. Integrit
y 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 p
ale 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 t
he 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 i
nner 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 wa
y 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 hel
met-
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 li
ghts?
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 fo
r 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 r
aises 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 d
oor 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
(so
mething 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 t
o 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 wi
th 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 glea
ming 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)
Ripl
ey'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 h
er 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 ruin
ed 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 somet
hing 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
(han
ds 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
on two plastic microfiche cards, each with front and side views of Fox and
Welle
s, 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 simp
lify 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 Reduct
ions 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 a
ttach_)
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
al
l, 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)
Wher
e?
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 fa
r 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 th
at 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 arrive
d 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 bet
ween 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
mani
pulators 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
throu
gh 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 wa
nt 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 AB
994J2
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 Of
ficer 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
t
he 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, an
d 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 c
ourse.
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 th
is, 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 "windo
ws" 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 larg
e 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 h
olding 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 i
nvestigation.
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 --
DIPLO
MATIC 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 i
nquiry.
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 b
ar.
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 Hic
k'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 applic
ations,
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 p
eople. 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 Anchorpo
int 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 eh'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 th
e 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 sa
w 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 u
s 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 eithe
r. 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 b
een 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 ST
ASIS 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 Weapo
ns 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 ou
r friend?
She moves to the stasis tube, looks in.