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.