"ALIENS"
by
James Cameron
FIRST DRAFT
May 28, 1985
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
ALIENS
FADE IN
SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE - SPACE 1
Silent and endless. The stars shine like the love of
God...cold and remote. Against them drifts a tiny chip
of technology.
CLOSER SHOT It is the NARCISSUS, lifeboat of the
ill-fated star-freighter Nostromo. Without interior
or running lights it seems devoid of life. The PING
of a RANGING RADAR grows louder, closer. A shadow
engulfs the Narcissus. Searchlights flash on, playing
over the tiny ship, as a MASSIVE DARK HULL descends
toward it.
INT. NARCISSUS 2
Dark and dormant as a crypt. The searchlights stream
in the dusty windows. Outside, massive metal forms can
BE SEEN descending around the shuttle. Like the tolling
of a bell, a BASSO PROFUNDO CLANG reverberates through
the hull.
CLOSE ON THE AIRLOCK DOOR Light glares as a cutting
torch bursts through the metal. Sparks shower into the
room.
A second torch cuts through. They move with machine
precision, cutting a rectangular path, converging. The
torches meet. Cut off. The door falls inward REVEALING
a bizarre multi-armed figure. A ROBOT WELDER.
FIGURES ENTER, backlit and ominous. THREE MEN in
bio-isolation suits, carrying lights and equipment. They
approach a sarcophaguslike HYPERSLEEP CAPSULE, f.g.
LEADER
(filtered)
Internal pressure positive. Assume
nominal hull integrity. Hypersleep
capsules, style circa late twenties...
His gloved hand wipes at on opaque layer of dust on the
canopy.
ANGLE INSIDE CAPSULE as light stabs in where the dust is
wiped away, illuminating a WOMAN, her face in peaceful
repose.
WARRANT OFFICER RIPLEY, sole survivor of the Nostromo.
Nestled next to her is JONES, the ship's wayward cat.
LEADER
(voice over; filtered)
Lights are green. She's alive.
Well, there goes out salvage, guys.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - TIGHT ON RIPLEY - GATEWAY STATION 3
She's lying in a bed, looking wan, as a female MED-TECH
raises the backrest. She is surrounded by arcane white
MEDICAL EQUIPMENT. The Med-Tech exudes practiced
cheeriness.
MED-TECH
Why don't I open the viewport?
Watch your eyes.
Harsh light floods in as a motorized shield slides into
the ceiling, REVEALING a breathtaking vista. Beyond the
sprawling complex of modular habitats, collectively
called GATEWAY STATION, is the curve of EARTH as seen
from high orbit. Blue and serene.
MED-TECH
And how are we today?
RIPLEY
(weakly)
Terrible.
MED-TECH
Just terrible? That's better
than yesterday at least.
RIPLEY
How long have I been on
Gateway station?
MED-TECH
Just a couple of days. Do you
feel up to a visitor?
Ripley shrugs, not caring. The door opens and a MAN
enters, although Ripley sees only what he is carrying.
A familiar large, orange TOMCAT.
RIPLEY
Jones!
She grabs the cat like a life preserver.
RIPLEY
(cooing baby-cat talk)
Come here Jonesy you ugly old
moose...you ugly thing.
Jones patiently endures Ripley's embarrassing display,
seeming none the worse for wear. The visitor sits
beside the bed and Ripley finally notices him. He is
thirtyish and handsome, in a suit that looks executive
or legal, the tie loosened with studied casualness. A
smile referred to as "winning."
MAN
Nice room. I'm Burke. Carter Burke.
I work for the company, but other
than that I'm an okay guy. Glad to
see you're feeling better. I'm told
the weakness and disorientation
should pass soon. Side effects of
the unusually long hypersleep, or
something like that.
RIPLEY
How long was I out there? They
won't tell me anything.
BURKE
(soothing)
Well, maybe you shouldn't worry
about that just yet.
Ripley grabs his arm, surprising him.
RIPLEY
How long?
Burke gazes at her, thoughtful.
BURKE
All right. My instinct says
you're strong enough to handle
this...Fifty-seven years.
Ripley is stunned. She seems to deflate, her expression
passing through amazement and shock to realization of
all she has lost. Friends. Family. Her world.
RIPLEY
Fifty-seven...oh, Christ...
BURKE
You'd drifted right through the
core systems. It's blind luck that
deep-salvage team caught you when
they...are you all right?
Ripley coughs suddenly as if choking and her expression
becomes one of dawning horror. Burke hands her a glass
of water from the nightstand. She slaps it away. It
shatters with a SMASH. Jones dives, yowling. Ripley
grabs her chest, struggling as if she is strangling.
The Med-Tech hits a console button.
MED-TECH
(shouting)
Code Blue! 415. Code Blue!
4-1-5!
Burke and the Med-Tech are holding Ripley's shoulders as
she goes into convulsions. A DOCTOR and TWO TECHS run
in. Ripley's back arches in agony.
RIPLEY
No...noooo!
They try to restrain her as she thrashes, knocking over
equipment. Her EKG races like mad. Jones, under a
cabinet, hisses wide-eyed.
DOCTOR
Hold her...Get me an airway, stat!
And fifteen cc's of...Jesus!
AN EXPLOSION OF BLOOD beneath the sheet covering her
chest! Ripley stares at the SHAPE RISING UNDER THE
SHEET. Tearing itself out of her.
HER P.O.V. as the sheet rises. A GLIMPSE OF the
CHITTERING HORROR...IT SCREECHES.
TIGHT ON RIPLEY screaming, snapping up INTO FRAME.
Alone in the darkened hospital room. She gasps for
breath, clutching pathetically at her chest. There is
no demented horror rigging itself out of her. Her eyes
snap about wildly, slowly focusing on the reality of
her safety. Shuddering, bathed in sweat, she kneads her
breastbone with the heel of her hand and sobs.
A VIDEO MONITOR beside the bed snaps on. A MED-TECH's
face.
MED-TECH
Bad dreams again? Do you want
something to help you sleep?
RIPLEY
(faint)
No.. I've slept enough.
The Med-Tech shrugs and switches off. Touching a button
on the nightstand she opens the viewport, REVEALING
Gateway and the turquoise Earth. She hugs Jones to her
and rocks with him like a child, still shattered by the
nightmare. Shivering. Sleep is far off.
RIPLEY
We made it, Jones. We made it.
But at what price?
CUT TO:
EXT. PARK 4
Sunlight streams in shafts through a stand of poplars,
beyond which a verdant meadow is VISIBLE.
EXTREME F.G. Jones stalks toward a bird hopping among
fallen leaves. He leaps. And smack into A WALL.
RIPLEY
(voice over)
Dumbshit.
WIDER ANGLE as Jones steps back confused from the
HIGH-RESOLUTION ENVIRONMENTAL WALL SCREEN, a sort of
cinerama video-loop. Ripley sits on a bench in what we
now SEE is an ATRIUM off the medical center, still
somewhere in the bowels of Gateway Station. Benches.
Some unenthusiastic potted trees. The sterile corridors
VISIBLE beyond glass doors b.g.
Burke ENTERS in his usual mode, casual haste.
BURKE
Sorry...I've been running behind
all morning.
Ripley seems healthier now, but still a bit brittle.
RIPLEY
Have they located my daughter
yet?
BURKE
Well, I was going to wait
until after the inquest...
He opens his briefcase, removing a sheet of printer
hard copy, including a telestat photo.
RIPLEY
Is she...?
BURKE
(scanning)
Amanda Ripley-McClaren. Married
name, I guess. Age: sixty-six
...at time of death. Two years
ago.
(looks at her)
I'm sorry.
Ripley studies the PHOTOGRAPH, stunned.
The face of a woman in her mid-sixties. It could be
anybody. She tries to reconcile the face with the
little girl she once knew.
RIPLEY
Amy.
BURKE
(reading)
Cancer. Hmmmm. They still haven't
licked that one. Cremated. Interred
Parkside Repository, Little Chute,
Wisconsin. No children.
Ripley gazes off, into the pseudo-landscape, into the
past.
RIPLEY
I promised her I'd be home for
her birthday. Her eleventh
birthday. I sure missed that
one.
(pause)
Well...she has already learned
to take my promises with a grain
of salt. When it came to flight
schedules, anyway.
Burke nods, a simpatico presence.
RIPLEY
You always think you can make it
up to somebody...later, you know.
But now I never can. I never
can.
Let's get one thing straight...Ripley can be one tough
lady. But the terror, the loss, the emptiness are, in
this moment, overwhelming. She cries silently.
Burke puts a reassuring hand on her arm.
BURKE
(gently)
The hearing convenes at 0930. You
don't want to be late.
INT. CORRIDOR - GATEWAY 5
Elevator doors part and Ripley emerges, in mid-conversation
with Burke. DOLLYING AHEAD OF THEM as they move rapidly
down the corridor.
RIPLEY
You read my deposition...it's
complete and accurate.
BURKE
Look, I believe you, but there are
going to be some heavyweights in
there. You got Feds, you got
interstellar commerce commission,
you got colonial administration,
insurance company guys...
RIPLEY
I get the picture.
BURKE
Just tell them what happened. The
important thing is to stay cool
and unemotional.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - ON RIPLEY - GATEWAY 6
She's not cool. Not unemotional.
RIPLEY
Do you people have earwax, of
what? We have been here three
hours. How many different ways
do you want me to tell the same
story?
She faces the EIGHT MEMBERS of the board of inquiry at a
long conference table. Gray suits and grim faces. They
aren't buying. Behind Ripley on a large VIDEO SCREEN,
PARKER grins like a goon from his personnel mugshot. His
file prints out next to it. BRETT's face and dossier
replace it, and then the others as the SCENE continues...
KANE, LAMBERT, ASH the android traitor, DALLAS.
VAN LEUWEN, the ICC representative, steeples his fingers
and frowns.
VAN LEUWEN
Look at it from our perspective.
You freely admit to detonating the
engines of, and thereby destroying,
an M-Class star-freighter. A
rather expensive piece of hardware...
INSURANCE INVESTIGATOR
(dryly)
Forty-two million in adjusted dollars.
That's minus payload, of course.
VAN LEUWEN
The shuttle's flight recorder
corroborates some elements of
your account. That the Nostromo
set down on LV-426, an unsurveyed
planet, at that time. That
repairs were made. That it resumed
its course and was subsequently set
for self-destruct. By you. For
reasons unknown.
RIPLEY
Look, I told you...
VAN LEUWEN
It did not, however, contain any
entries concerning the hostile
life form you allegedly picked up.
Ripley sense the noose tightening.
RIPLEY
Then somebody's gotten to it...
doctored the recorder. Who had
access to it?
The ECA (Extrasolar Colonization Administration)
Representative (ECA REP) just shakes his head.
ECA REP
Would you just listen to yourself
for one minute.
Ripley glares at the ECA Rep, a woman on the ungenerous
side of fifty. Van Leuwen sighs with exasperation.
VAN LEUWEN
The analysis team which went over
your shuttle centimeter by
centimeter found no physical
evidence of the creature you
describe...
RIPLEY
(losing it)
That's because I blew it out the
Goddamn airlock!
(pause)
Like I said.
INSURANCE MAN
(to ECA Rep)
Are there any species like this
'hostile organism' on LV-426?
ECA REP
No. It's a rock. No indigenous
life larger than a simple virus.
Ripley grits her teeth in frustration.
RIPLEY
I told you, it wasn't indigenous.
There was an alien spacecraft there.
A derelict ship. We homed on its
beacon...
ECA REP
To be perfectly frank, we've surveyed
over three hundred worlds and no one's
ever reported a creature which, using
your words...
(read from Ripley's
statement)
...'gestates in a living human host'
and has 'concentrated molecular acid
for blood.'
Ripley glances at Burke, silent at the far end of the
table. His expression is grim. Her mouth hardens as
a bit of the old nail-eating Ripley surfaces.
RIPLEY
Look, I can see where this is
going. But I'm telling you those
things exist. Back on that planetoid
is an alien ship and on that ship
are thousands of eggs. Thousands.
Do you understand? I suggest you
find it, using the flight recorder's
data. Find it and deal with it --
before one of your survey teams
comes back with a little surprise...
VAN LEUWEN
Thank you, Officer Ripley. That
will be...
RIPLEY
(louder, stepping
on him)
...because just one of those
things managed to kill my entire
crew, within twelve hours of
hatching...
Van Leuwen stands, out of patience.
VAN LEUWEN
Thank you, that will be all.
Ripley stares him down, glowering at the board.
RIPLEY
That's not all, Goddamnit! If
those things get back here, that
will be all. Then you can just
kiss it good-bye, Jack! Just kiss
it goodbye.
Ripley turns sharply away, trembling with frustration
and anger. Dallas looks back at her from the video
screen, his eyes burning from the photograph, as we:
CUT TO:
INT. CORRIDOR 7
Ripley kicks the wall next to Burke who is getting coffee
and donuts at a vending machine.
BURKE
You had them eating out of your
hand, kiddo.
RIPLEY
They had their minds made up
before I even went in there.
They think I'm a head case.
BURKE
(cheerfully)
You are a head case. Have a donut.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - TIGHT ON RIPLEY - LATER 8
Van Leuwen clears his throat.
VAN LEUWEN
It is the finding of this board of
inquiry that Warrent Officer Ellen Ripley,
NOC-14672. has acted with questionable
judgment and is unfit to hold an
ICC license as a commercial flight
officer.
Burke watches Ripley taking it on the chin, white-lipped
but subdued.
VAN LEUWEN
Said license is hereby suspended
indefinitely. No criminal charges
will be filed at this time and you
are released on own recognizance
for a six month period of
psychometric probation, to include
monthly review by an ICC psychiatric
tech...
INT. CORRIDOR 9
DOLLY BACK as the conference room door bangs open and
Ripley strides through. She shrugs off Burke's
restraining arm and catches up to Van Leuwen walking
down the corridor.
RIPLEY
(insistent)
Why won't you check out LV-426?
VAN LEUWEN
(condescendingly)
Because I don't have to. The
people who live there checked it
out years ago and they never
reported and 'hostile organism'
or alien ship. And by the way,
they call it Acheron now.
RIPLEY
What are you talking about.
What people?
Van Leuwen steps into an elevator with some others, but
Ripley holds the door from closing.
VAN LEUWEN
Terraformers...planet engineers.
It's what we call a shake 'n' bake
colony. They set up atmosphere
processors to make the air
breathable...big job. Takes
decades. They've already been
there over twenty years. Peacefully.
The door tries to close. Ripley slams it back. People
are getting annoyed.
RIPLEY
How many colonists?
VAN LEUWEN
Sixty, maybe seventy families.
RIPLEY
(low)
Sweet Jesus.
ELEVATOR PASSENGER
Do you mind?
Ripley's hand slides off the door, strengthless.
TIGHT ON HER FROM INSIDE the elevator as the doors close
like fate on her lost expression.
EXT. ALIEN LANDSCAPE - DAY 10
A hideous, storm-blasted vista. Tortured rock forms.
Bleak twilight at midday.
PAN SLOWLY ONTO a CORRODED METAL SIGN set in concrete
pylons, which reads:
HADLEY'S HOPE - POP. 159
"WELCOME TO ACHERON"
Some local has added below in spray-can graffiti
"Have a nice day." Gale-force wind SCREECHES around
the steel sign, driving a freezing rain.
The COLONY, b.g., is a squat complex with lots of
floodlights.
EXT. COLONY COMPLEX 11
The town is a cluster of bunkerlike metal and concrete
buildings connected by conduits. Neon signs throw garish
colors across the vaultlike walls, advertising bars and
other businesses. It looks like a sodden cross between
the Krupps munitions works and a truckstop casino in
the Nevada boondocks.
Huge-wheeled tractors crawl toadlike in the rutted
"street" and vanish down rampways to underground garages.
ANGLE ON THE CONTROL BLOCK the largest structure. It
resembles vaguely the superstructure of an aircraft
carrier...a flying bridge.
VISIBLE across a half kilometer of barren heath, b.g.,
is the massive complex of the nearest ATMOSPHERE
PROCESSOR, looking like a power plant bred with an active
volcano. Its fiery glow pulses in the low cloud cover
like a steel mill.
INT. MAIN CONCOURSE - NEAR CONTROL BLOCK 12
A central space, laid out like a scaled-down shopping
mall with no styling flourishes. We SEE a cross section
of the types of people who have come to live on
Godforsaken Acheron. Tough. Pragmatic. "Grapes of
Wrath" faces. Calloused hands. Not too many interior
decorators. Some children race in the corridor on things
that look suspiciously like "Big Wheels."
INT. OPERATIONS ROOM - CONTROL BLOCK 13
Jammed with computer terminals, technicians, displays...
most of the business of running the colony flows through
here. It's high tech but used and scrungy. Papers
piled up. Coffee cup rings.
DOLLY AHEAD OF LYDECKER, the Assistant Operations Manager,
as he catches up to the harried Operating Manager,
SIMPSON.
LYDECKER
You remember you sent some
wildcatters out to that
plateau, out past the Ilium
range, a couple days ago?
SIMPSON
Yeah. What?
LYDECKER
There's a guy on the horn,
mom-and-pop survey team. Says
he's homing on something and
wants to know if his claim will
be honored.
SIMPSON
Christ. Some honch in a cushy
office on Earth says go look at
a grid reference in the middle
of nowhere, we look. They don't
say why, and I don't ask. I
don't ask because it takes two
weeks to get an answer out here
and the answer's always 'don't
ask.'
LYDECKER
So what do I tell this guy?
SIMPSON
Tell him, as far as I'm concerned,
he finds something it's his.
EXT. ACHERON - THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE - A SIX-WHEELED 14
TRACTOR - DAY
It roars across corrugated rock, blasting through soggy
drifts of volcanic ash.
INT. TRACTOR 15
At the controls, intent on a PINGING scope, is RUSS JORDEN,
independent prospector. Beside him is his wife/partner
ANNE and in the back their two kids are playing among the
heavy sampling equipment.
JORDEN
(gloating cackle)
Look at this fat, juicy magnetic
profile. And it's mine, mine,
mine.
ANNE
Half mine, dear.
NEWT, their six-year-old daughter, yells from the back...
NEWT
And half mine!
JORDEN
I got too many partners.
NEWT
Daddy, when are we going back
to town?
JORDEN
When we get rich, Newt.
NEWT
You always say that. I wanna go
back. I wanna play 'Monster Maze.'
Her older brother TIM sticks his jeering face close to
hers.
TIM
You cheat too much.
NEWT
Do not. I'm just the best.
TIM
Do too! You go in places we
can't fit.
NEWT
So! That's why I'm the best.
ANNE
Knock it off! I catch either of
you playing in the air ducts again
I'll tan your hides.
NEWT
Mom. All the kids play it...
JORDEN
(reverently)
Holy shiiit!
ANGLE THROUGH FRONT CANOPY ON a bizarre shape looming
ahead. An enormous bonelike mass projecting upward from
the bed of ash. The tractor slows.
Canted on its side and buckles against a rock outcropping
by the lava flow, it is still recognizable as an
EXTRATERRESTRIAL SHIP. Bio-mechanoid. Nonhuman design.
JORDEN
Folks, we have scored big this
time.
EXT. TRACTOR 16
Jorden and Anne step down, wearing ENVIRONMENT SUITS.
Carrying LIGHTS, PACKS, CAMERAS, TEST GEAR. Their
breath clouds in the chill air.
ANNE
You kids stay inside. I mean
it! We'll be right back.
They trudge toward the alien derelict.
ANNE
Shouldn't we call in?
JORDEN
Let's wait till we know what to
call it in as.
ANNE
(nervous)
How about 'big weird thing'?
They pause at a twisted gash in the hull. Blackness
inside.
INT./EXT. TRACTOR 17
Newt has her face pressed to the glass, steaming it.
Watching her parents enter the strange ship. Tim GRABS
HER from behind. She SHRIEKS.
TIM
Cheater!
EXT. LANDSCAPE - NIGHT 18
The tractor and the derelict are dark and motionless.
The wind HOWLS around them.
Tim is curled up in the driver's seat. Newt shakes him
awake, trying hard not to cry.
NEWT
Timmy...they've been gone a
long time.
Tim considers the night. The wind. The vast landscape.
He bites his lip.
TIM
(quavering)
It'll be okay, Newt. Dad knows
what he's doing.
CRASH! Newt SCREAMS as the door beside her is RIPPED
OPEN. A dark shape lunges inside!
Anne, panting and terrified, grabs the dash mike.
ANNE
Mayday! Mayday! This is
Alpha Kilo Two Four Niner
calling Hadley Control.
Repeat. This is...
As Anne shouts the mayday Newt looks past her, to the
ground. Russ Jorden lies there inert, dragged somehow
by Anne from inside the ship. There is SOMETHING ON
HIS FACE. An appalling MULTILEGGED CREATURE, pulsing
with obscene life. Newt begins to SCREAM hysterically,
competing with the shrieking wind which rises to a
crescendo as we:
CUT TO:
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT - GATEWAY - DAY 20
Silence. Ripley, looking haggard, sits at a table in
the dining alcove contemplating the smoke rising from
her cigarette. The place is modest, to be charitable,
and there are few personal touches. Though it's late
in the day Ripley is still wearing a robe. The bed is
unmade. Dishes in the sink. Jones prowls across the
counter. The WALLSCREEN is on, blaring vapidly.
VOICE FROM VIDEO
(o.s.)
Hey, Bob! I heard you and the
family are heading off for the
colonies!
BON
(o.s.)
Best decision I ever made, Bill.
We'll be starting a new life
from scratch, in a clean world.
No crime. No unemployment...
The door BUZZES. Ripley jumps like a cat. Jones doesn't.
INT. CORRIDOR 21
Carter Burke stands in the narrow, dingy corridor with
LIEUTENANT GORMAN, Colonial Marine Corps. Young and
severe in his officer's dress-black. The door opens
slightly.
BURKE
Hi, Ripley. This is
Lieutenant Gorman of the...
SLAM. Burke buzzes again. Talks to the door...
BURKE
Ripley we have to talk.
(pause)
They've lost contact with the
colony on Acheron.
The door opens. Ripley considers the ramifications of
that. She motions them inside.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT - A LITTLE LATER 22
Burke and Gorman are seated, nursing coffee. Ripley
paces, very tense.
RIPLEY
No. There's no way!
BURKE
Hear me out...
RIPLEY
I was reamed, steamed and
dry-cleaned by you guys...and
now you want me to go back out
there? Forget it.
We SEE that she's gut scared, covering it with anger.
Burke sees it.
BURKE
Look, we don't know what's going
on out there. It may just be a
down transmitter. But if it's
not, I want you there...as an
advisor. That's all.
GORMAN
You wouldn't be going in with the
troops. I can guarantee your
safety.
BURKE
These Colonial Marines are
some tough hombres, and they're
packing state-of-the-art firepower.
Nothing they can't handle...right,
Lieutenant?
GORMAN
(cool)
We're trained to deal with these
kinds of situations.
RIPLEY
(to Burke)
What about you? What's your
interest in this?
BURKE
Well, the corporation co-financed
that colony with the Colonial
Administration, against mineral
rights. We're getting into a lot
of terraforming...'Building Better
Worlds.'
Burke is revealing his early days in sales.
RIPLEY
Yeah, yeah. I saw the commercial.
BURKE
I heard you were working in the
cargo docks.
RIPLEY
(defensive)
That's right.
BURKE
Running loaders, forklifts, that
sort of thing?
RIPLEY
(shrugging)
It's all I could get. Anyway,
it keeps my mind off of...
everything. Days off are worse.
BURKE
What if I said I could get you
reinstated as a flight officer?
And that the company has agreed
to pick up your contract?
RIPLEY
If I go.
BURKE
If you go.
(pause)
It's a second chance, kiddo. And
it'll be the best thing in the
world for you to face this fear
and beat it. You gotta get back
on the horse...
RIPLEY
(frosty)
Spare me, Burke. I've had my
psych evaluation this month.
Burke leans close, a let's-cut-the-crap intimacy.
BURKE
Yes, and I've read it. You
wake up every night, sheets
soaking, the same nightmare
over and over...
RIPLEY
(shouting)
No! The answer is no. Now
please go. I'm sorry. Just
go, would you.
Burke nods to Gorman who rises with him. He slips a
TRANSLUCENT CARD onto the table, heads for the door.
BURKE
Think about it.
EXT. ACHERON LANDSCAPE - NIGHT 23
As the wind HOWLS through tormented rock, BUILDING IN
PITCH until we:
CUT TO:
INT. APARTMENT 24
Ripley lunges INTO FRAME with an animal outcry. She
clutches her chest, breathing hard. Bathed in sweat
she lights a cigarette with trembling hands. Do we
hear a faint, desolate wind?
TIGHT ON PHONE CONSOLE as Ripley's hand inserts Burke's
card into a slot. "STAND BY" prints out on the screen
and is replaced by Burke's face, bleary with sleep.
BURKE
(on video phone)
Yello? Oh, Ripley. Hi...
RIPLEY
Burke, just tell me one thing.
That you're going out there to
kill them. Not study. Not bring
back. Just burn them out...clean
...forever.
BURKE
That's the plan. My word on it.
CLOSEUP - RIPLEY taking a deep slow breath. It's time
to look the demon in the eye.
RIPLEY
All right. I'm in.
She punches off before Burke replies, before she can
change her mind. She turns to Jones sitting on the
bed and her tone becomes admonishing...
RIPLEY
And you my dear, are staying
right here.
Jones blinks, cynical cat eyes..."count me right
out."
CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP SPACE - THREE WEEKS LATER 25
An empty starfield. Metal spires slice ACROSS FRAME.
A mountain of steel following. A massive military
transport ship, the SULACO. Ugly, battered...
functional.
INT. CORRIDOR TO CARGO LOCK 26
An empty corridor, seemingly miles long. No movement.
The THRUMMING of hyperdrive engines.
INT. CARGO LOCK 27
An enormous chamber, cavernous and dark. Squatting
in the shadows are two orbit-to-surface shuttles.
DROP-SHIPS. Heavy machinery all around them...
cranes, loading equipment.
INT. BRIDGE 28
Dark electronic womb. CAMERA DOLLIES SLOWLY among
murmuring instrumentation. A sudden high-pitched
TRILLING accompanies a sequence of lights. An alarm.
INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT 29
Blackness, until a bank of indicators lights up.
Hydraulics lift a grid of equipment from a row of
horizontal HYPERSLEEP CYLINDERS. It reaches the
ceiling. Locks.
CLOSE ON RIPLEY'S CAPSULE as trickles of water run
down the frosted canopy.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT 30
Lit up, white and sterile.
The canopies of the row of capsules are raised. Ripley
sits up. Rubs her arms briskly. Next to her Gorman
and Burke are stirring and beyond them the troopers,
wearing shorts and dog tags. They are:
MASTER SERGEANT APONE UNIT LEADER
CORPORAL HICKS B-TEAM LEADER
CORPORAL DIETRICH (female) MED-TECH
PFC HUDSON COM-TECH
PFC VASQUEZ (female) 'SMART-GUN' OPERATOR
PRIVATE DRAKE 'SMART-GUN' OPERATOR
PRIVATE FROST TROOPER
PRIVATE CROWE TROOPER
PRIVATE WIERZBOWSKI TROOPER
CORPORAL FERRO (female) DROP-SHIP PILOT
PFC SPUNKMEYER DROP-SHIP CREW CHIEF
The ship is fully automated in interstellar flight so
there is no crew, except for EXECUTIVE OFFICER (ECA) Bishop,
who supervises planetary maneuvering.
GROANS echo across the chamber.
SPUNKMEYER
Arrgh. I'm getting too old for
this shit.
SPUNKMEYER says this sincerely, though he must have
enlisted underage not long ago. Looking surly, DRAKE
sits up. He's young as well but street-tough. Nasty
scar curling his lip into a sneer.
DRAKE
They ain't payin' us enough
for this.
DIETRICH
Not enough to have to wake up
to your face, Drake.
DRAKE
Suck air. Hey, Hicks...you look
like I feel.
HICKS, an older lifer-type who keeps his own counsel,
just snorts good-naturedly.
Ripley scans the group as they shuffle past her to a
bank of lockers. Though not supermen they are lean and
hardened...tough, capable, jaded. They combine the
specialized techno-combat training of the twenty-first
century fighting man with those qualities universal to
"grunts" through the ages. SERGEANT APONE moves down the
row of freezers.
HUDSON
This floor's freezing.
APONE
Christ. I never saw such a
buncha old women. You want me
to fetch your slippers, Hudson?
HUDSON
Would you, Sir?
Ripley steps back as the troopers shuffle past nodding
cursory hellos. She feels isolated by the camaraderie
of this tightknit group.
VASQUEZ eyes her coldly as she passes. Like Drake,
Vasquez is younger then the rest and her combat-primer
was the street in a Los Angeles barrio. She is tough
even by the standards of this group. Hard-muscled.
Eyes cunning and mean.
HUDSON
Hey, Vasquez...you ever been
mistaken for a man?
VASQUEZ
No. Have you?
She slaps Drake's open palm and it clenches into a
greeting which is part contest. It gets rougher.
Painful. Until she cuffs him hard and they break with
vicious laughter. Dobermans playing. Conscripted from
juvenile prison, the two of them were trained to
operate the formidable "SMART-GUNS." That is part
of their bond.
BISHOP is helping everyone like a valet. As he passes
close to her Ripley notices a strange TATTOO across
the back of his left hand...an ALPHA-NUMERIC CODE.
FROST
Hey, hand job, you take my
towel?
SPUNKMEYER
(overlapping)
I need some slack, man. How
come they send us straight back
out like this? We got some slack
comin', man.
HICKS
You just got three weeks.
SPUNKMEYER
I mean breathing, not this frozen
shit.
DIETRICH
Yeah, 'Top'...what about it?
APONE
You know it ain't up to me.
(louder)
Awright! Let's knock off the
grabass. First assembly's in
fifteen...let's shag it.
INT. SHOWERS 31
High pressure water jets and a blast of hot air when
you step out...a drive through car wash for people.
Through the swirling steam Hudson, Vasquez and FERRO
are watching Ripley dry off.
VASQUEZ
Who's the fresh meat again?
FERRO
She's supposed to be some kinda
consultant...
(exaggerated)
...She was an alien once.
HUDSON
Whoooah! No shit? I'm impressed.
APONE
Let's go...let's go. Cycle through!
INT. MESS HALL 32
An unconscious segregation takes place at the troopers
assemble at one long table while Gorman, Burke, Bishop
and Ripley sit at another. Everybody is nursing a
coffee, waiting for eggs from the AUTOCHEF. Among the
troopers dress discipline is lax...fatigues customized
and emblazoned with patches. Drake's tunic is cut off
to a vest and has "Eat the apple and fuck the Corps"
stenciled on back. "Peace Through Superior Firepower,"
"Pray for War" and "I've Served My Time in Hell: Cetti
Epsilon NC-104" are some others.
HUDSON
Hey, 'Top.' What's the op?
APONE
Rescue mission. There's some
juicy colonists' daughters we
gotta rescue from virginity.
Apone is stocky, grizzled, with peregrine eyes. He runs
it loose and fair, but only because he knows his people
are the best.
SPUNKMEYER
Shee-it. Dumbass colonists.
What's this crap supposed to be?
WIERZBOWSKI
Cornbread, I think. Hey, I wouldn't
mind getting me some more a
that Arcturan poontang. Remember
that time?
HICKS
(low)
Looks like that new Lieutenant's
too good to eat with us grunts.
WIERZBOWSKI
(glancing
over shoulder)
Yeah. Got a corn cob up his ass,
definitely.
Across the room, at the other table, Gorman sits with
his creases perfect...the consummate strack NCO. Bishop
takes a seat beside Ripley, who pointedly gets up and
moves to the far side of the table. He looks wounded.
BISHOP
I'm sorry you feel that way
about Synthetics, Ripley.
Ripley spins on Burke, her tone accusing.
RIPLEY
You never said anything about an
android being here! Why not?
BURKE
Well, it didn't occur to me. It's
been policy for years to have a
synthetic on board.
BISHOP
I prefer the term 'artificial person'
myself. Is there a problem?
BURKE
A synthetic malfunctioned on her
last trip out. Some deaths were
involved.
BISHOP
I'm shocked. Was it an older model?
BURKE
Cyberdyne Systems 120-A/2.
Bishop turns to Ripley, very conciliatory.
BISHOP
Well, that explains it. The
A/2's were always a bit twitchy.
That could never happen now with
out behavioral inhibitors. Impossible
for me to harm or, by omission of
action, allow to be harmed a
human being.
(smiling)
More cornbread?
WHAM! Ripley knocks the plate out of his hand, halfway
across the room.
RIPLEY
Just stay away from me, Bishop!
You got that straight?
Burke and Gorman exchange glances.
Wierzbowski, at the next table, shrugs and turns back
to the other troopers.
WIERZBOWSKI
She don't like the cornbread
either.
INT. READY ROOM - TIGHT ON APONE - ARMORY 33
bellowing.
APONE
Tench-hut!
WIDER ANGLE as the troops snap to from their lounging
among the racks of high-tech weaponry. Gorman enters
with Burke and Ripley.
GORMAN
At ease. I'm sorry we didn't
have time to brief before we
left Gateway but...
HUDSON
Sir?
GORMAN
(annoyed)
Yes, Hicks?
HUDSON
Hudson, Sir. He's Hicks.
GORMAN
What's the question?
HUDSON
Is this going to be a stand-up
fight, Sir, on another bug-hunt?
GORMAN
All we know is that there's
still no contact with the colony
and that a xenomorph may be
involved.
WIERZBOWSKI
A what?
HICKS
(to Wierzbowski;
low)
It's a bug-hunt.
(louder)
So what are these things?
Gorman nods to Ripley, who stands before the troops.
She sets some RECORDING DISKETTES on the table.
RIPLEY
I've dictated what I know on
these.
APONE
Tease us a bit.
SPUNKMEYER
Yeah...previews.
RIPLEY
Okay. It's important to understand
this organism's life cycle. It's
actually two creatures. The first
form hatches from a spore...a sort
of large egg, and attaches itself
to its victim. Then it injects
an embryo, detaches and dies.
It's essentially a walking sex organ.
The --
HUDSON
Sounds like you, Hicks.
RIPLEY
(controlled)
The embryo, the second form, hosts
in the victim's body for several
hours. Gestating. Then it...
(with difficulty)
...then it...emerges. Moults.
Grows rapidly --
VASQUEZ
I only need to know one thing.
RIPLEY
Yes?
VASQUEZ
Where they are.
Vasquez coolly points her finger, cocks her thumbs, and
blows away an imaginary alien.
DRAKE
Yo! Vasquez. Kick ass!
VASQUEZ
Anytime. Anywhere.
HUDSON
Somebody said alien...she
thought they said illegal alien
and signed up.
VASQUEZ
Fuck you.
HUDSON
Anytime. Anywhere.
RIPLEY
(icy)
Am I disturbing you conversation
Mr. Hudson?
Hudson settles down, smirking. Ripley locks eyes with
Vasquez.
RIPLEY
I hope you're right. I really
do.
BURKE
(to all)
I suggest you study the disks
Ripley has been kind enough to
prepare for you.
GORMAN
Are there any questions? Hudson?
HUDSON
How do I get out of this
chicken-shit outfit?
Gorman scowls then, thanking Ripley with a nod, takes
over the predrop briefing.
GORMAN
All right. I want this to go
smooth and by the numbers. I
want DCS and tactical database
assimilation by 0830.
(some groans)
Ordnance loading, weapons strip and
drop-ship prep details will have
seven hours...
EXT. SPACE - ACHERON 34
They have arrived. From orbit the planet looks serene
...Pearlescent cloud cover masking the environmental
torment beneath. The SULACO floats, its MANEUVERING
JETS FIRING. A bluish glow. Then twice more, rapidly.
INT. BRIDGE 35
Bishop is installed in his command seat, hemmed in by
instrumentation.
BISHOP
(into mike)
Attention. This concluded final
maneuvering operations. Thank
you for your cooperation. You
may resume work.
INT. LOADING BAY - TIGHT ON MASSIVE FORKS - CARGO LOCK 34
sliding into a heavy ordnance rack with an echoing
CLANG. PULL BACK as the rack of tactical missiles is
lifted, REVEALING two powerful hydraulic arms.
Spunkmeyer, seated inside a POWER LOADER, swings the
ordnance up into a belly nacelle of the DROP-SHIP where
it locks into place. As he exerts pressure with his
hands against the servo-controls the hydraulic arms
move correspondingly...but with a thousandfold increase
in power. The forklift-style CLAWS on each arm can
crush with tons of pressure. The loader has an open
ROLL CAGE to protect the operator, and is supported
by squat HYDRAULIC LEGS which also move correspondingly
with the driver's movements.
You have never seen anything like this before.
Advanced as it is to us, it's only an old forklift
to them...battered and well used. Covered with grease.
Repainted many times. Across the back is stencilled
"CATERPILLAR."
Spunkmeyer's machine swings out from under the drop-ship
and we become aware of the intense activity throughout
the cavernous loading bay. Troopers on foot or driving
TOW-MOWERS, OVERHEAD LOADING ARMS...all in motion.
Hicks checks off items on an electronic manifest.
INT. READY ROOM - ARMORY 37
Wierzbowski, Drake and Vasquez are fieldstripping
light weapons with precise movements. Around them,
in racks, is an arsenal of advanced personal
artillery.
Vasquez likes the feel of the guns, the weight...the
authority. Her hands move without hesitation. CLACK.
CLACK. CLACK. She swings one of the SMART-GUNS out
on a work stand. Using a body brace and GYRO-STABILIZED
SUPPORT ARM, it is a computer-aimed, video targeted
automatic weapon. The futuristic equivalent of a .30
caliber light machine gun. Sort of a steadicam that
kills.
INT. LOADING BAY - ANGLE ON BURKE AND GORMAN 38
with pre-flight activity b.g.
BURKE
Still nothing from the colony?
GORMAN
Dead on all channels.
Ripley watches the drop-ship being loaded. A cross
between a Huey Aircobra gunship and the space shuttle
might describe it. An orbit-to-surface troop carrier,
heavily armed for the close support of ground missions.
She watches a six-wheeled APC, ARMORED PERSONNEL
CARRIER, being raised hydraulically into the ship's
belly. Ripley looks around as Frost wheels a rack of
incomprehensible equipment toward her.
FROST
Clear, please.
Ripley jumps aside, nodding apologetically. She turns.
Steps hastily back. Hudson cruises by with a laden
forklift.
HUDSON
Excuse me.
ANGLE ON APONE standing with Hicks, as Ripley approaches
him
RIPLEY
I feel like a fifth wheel
here. Is there anything I can
do?
APONE
I don't know. Is there anything
you can do?
RIPLEY
(pointing)
I can drive that loader. I've
got a Class Two rating. My
latest career move.
Apone turns. A SECOND POWER LOADER sits unused in
an equipment bay.
TWO SHOT APONE AND HICKS skeptical. Considering.
TIGHT ON POWER SWITCH as Ripley's finger punches it on.
A RISING WHINE of power.
TIGHT ON THE HYDRAULICS as the massive machine stirs
to life.
FULL, as the loader starts. Ripley is strapped into
the safety cage, her arms and legs inserted in the
servo-sensor assemblies. She takes a step. BOOM!
Two tons of hardened steel takes a step.
Ripley spins the wrist servos. The huge claws swing,
open...slide smoothly into lifting brackets on a
cargo module, nearby. She raises it deftly.
RIPLEY
Where you want it?
Hicks looks at Apone, cocks an eyebrow appreciatively.
INT. READY ROOM - ARMORY 39
The troopers are suiting up for the drop. Strapping on
their bulky COMBAT-ARMOR...interlocking plates like
football padding. They tape their wrists. Draw on
segmented boots. The sole cleats CLACK like hooves
on the deck plates. Lockers SLAM.
WEB BELTS. PACKS. HARNESSES. HELMETS. COM-SETS.
Their fingers move methodically over the fastenings.
It has its own rhythm...CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
APONE
Let's move it, girls! On
the ready line. Let's go,
let's go.
INT. DROP-SHIP - APC 40
Ripley, wearing a flight jacket and headset, files into
the ship with the hulking troopers. Inside they pass
directly into the APC we saw loaded earlier and take
seats facing each other across a narrow aisle. They will
drop already strapped into their ground vehicle for
rapid deployment. A KLAXON SOUNDS, signalling
depressurization of the cargo lock.
Hudson prowls the aisle, his movements predatory and
exaggerated. Ripley watches him working his way toward
her.
HUDSON
I am ready, man. Ready to get
it on. Check-it-out. I am the
ultimate badass...state of the
badass art. You do not want to
fuck with me. Hey, Ripley, don't
worry. Me and my squad of
ultimate badasses will protect you.
Check-it-out...
He slaps the SERVO-CANNON controls in the GUN BAY
above them.
HUDSON
Independently targetting
particle-beam phalanx. VWAP!
Fry half a city with this puppy.
We got tactical smart-missles,
phased-plasma pulse-rifles,
RPG's. We got sonic eeelectronic
ballbreakers, we got nukes, we
got knives...sharp sticks --
Hicks grabs Hudson by his battle harness and pulls him
into a seat. His voice is low, but it carries.
HICKS
Save it.
HUDSON
Sure, Hicks.
Ripley nods her thanks to Hicks. MOTORS WHINE and the
craft lurches. Burke, next to Ripley, grins eagerly
like this is a sport fishing trip.
BURKE
Here we go.
She looks like she's in a gas chamber waiting for the
pellet to drop.
EXT. SULACO 41
The drop-ship lowers from the cargo-lock on a massive
launch rig. The night side of Acheron yawns below...
enigmatic.
INT. COCKPIT 42
Ferro and Spunkmeyer run rapidly through the switches.
FERRO
Initiate release sequencer on my
mark. Three. Two. One. Mark!
EXT. SULACO - DROP-SHIP 43
Hydraulic WHINE. Clamps SLAM BACK. The ship drops.
INT. DROP-SHIP - APC 44
Apone, stalking the aisle, snatches for a handhold.
Bishop, Burke and Gorman groan at the sudden gees.
Ripley closes her eyes...the point of no return.
EXT. DROP-SHIP 45
It screams down through the stratosphere, plunging
into dark turbulence.
INT. COCKPIT 46
Beyond the canopy is gray limbo. The craft shudders
and lurches.
FERRO
(icy calm)
Switching to DCS ranging.
SPUNKMEYER
Two-four-o. Nominal to profile.
Picking up some hull ionization.
FERRO
Got it. Rough air ahead.
INT. HOLD - APC 47
TIGHT ON HICKS asleep in his harness.
FERRO
(voice over;
filtered)
Stand by for some chop.
TIGHT ON GORMAN as the ship begins to buck, his eyes
closed. Pale. Sweating. He rubs his hands on his
knees repeatedly.
RIPLEY
How may drops is this for you,
Lieutenant?
GORMAN
Thirty-eight...simulated.
VASQUEZ
How many combat drops?
GORMAN
Well...two. Three, including
this one.
Vasquez and Drake exchange do-you-believe-this-shit
expressions. Ripley looks accusingly at Burke.
INT. COCKPIT 48
FERRO
Turning on final. Coming around to
a seven-zero-niner. Terminal
guidance locked in. Where's
the damn beacon?
EXT. DROP-SHIP 49
It emerges from the low cloud ceiling. From the twilight
haze ahead the distant colony LANDING BEACONS become
visible.
INT. HOLD - APC 50
Stumbling as the ship pitches, Ripley makes her way
forward to the MOBILE TACTICAL OPERATIONS BAY (MTOB),
a control console lined with monitor screens. She
joins Burke watching over Gorman's shoulder as the
Lieutenant plays the board like a video director.
TIGHT ON MONITOR CONSOLE REVEALING screens labelled with
the names of the troopers. Two for each soldier. The
upper screens show images from the IMAGE-INTENSIFIED
VIDEO CAMERAS in their helmets. The lower screens are
BIO-MONITORS: EEG, EKG, and other graphic life-function
readouts. Other screens show EXTERIOR VIEWS.
GORMAN
Let's see. Everybody on line.
Drake, check you camera. There
seems to be a...
CLOSE ON DRAKE as he whacks himself on the head with
an ammo case. A familiar malfunction.
GORMAN
(o.s)
...that's better. Pan it around
a bit.
APONE
Awright. Fire-team A. Gear up.
Let's move. Two minutes.
Somebody wake up Hicks.
A clatter of activity as they don backpacks and weapons.
Vasquez and Drake buckle on their smart-gun body
harnesses.
Ripley watches the AP station loom on the exterior
screens.
RIPLEY
That the atmosphere processor?
BURKE
Uh-hunh. One of thirty or so,
all over the planet. They're
completely automated. We
manufacture them, by the way.
EXT. SHIP - AP STATION 51
The tiny ship circles the roaring tower. A metal
volcano thundering like the engines on God's Lear jet.
INT. HOLD - APC 52
Gorman plays with the controls, zooming the image of
the colony.
GORMAN
(to Ferro via mike)
Hold at forty. Slow circle of
the complex.
RIPLEY
The structure seems intact. They
have power.
On the screen the colony buildings loom in and the low
visibility like wrecks of freighters on the sea floor.
GORMAN
(to Apone)
Okay, let's do it.
APONE
Awright! I want a nice clean
dispersal this time.
Ripley turns as Vasquez squeezes past her.
VASQUEZ
You staying in here?
RIPLEY
You bet.
VASQUEZ
(turning away)
Figures.
GORMAN
(to Ferro via mike)
Set down sixty meters this side
of the telemetry mast. Immediate
dust off on my 'clear,' then stay
on station.
APONE
Ten seconds, people. Look sharp!
EXT. COLONY COMPLEX 53
Landing beacons sweep harsh light across the wet Tarmac.
The ship roars down, extending the loading ramp. Slams
down on hydraulic LANDING LEGS. The APC hits the ground
a moment later, pulling away from the ship as it leaps
up in a cloud of spray and peels off, circling.
The APC pulls to the edge of the complex. The CREW DOOR
opens. Troopers hit the ground running. Spread out.
They drop behind immediate cover. Apone scans with
him image intensifier visor lowered.
APONE'S P.O.V. through the starlight-scope visor.
Bright as a sunny day, though contrasty and lurid, we
SEE the colony buildings. Trash blows in the street.
No other movement.
GORMAN
(voice over;
filtered)
First squad up, on line. Hicks,
get yours in a cordon. Watch the
rear.
APONE
Vasquez, take point. Let's move.
Sprinting in a skirmish line, Apone's team advances on
the colony main entry-lock. Parked tightly across the
doors are two heavy-duty tractors. Vasquez reaches one
of the tractors, looks inside. The controls are ripped
out, as if by a crowbar or axe. She moves on.
EXT. COLONY BUILDING 54
Vasquez reaches the main doors, Drake flanking on the
right. Apone tries the door controls. Nothing.
APONE
Sealed. Hudson, run a bypass.
Hudson, all business now, moves up and studies the
door control panel. He pries off the facing and starts
clipping on the bypass wires.
APONE
First squad, assemble on me at
the main lock.
The wind roars around the bleak structures. A neon sign
creaks overhead. Hudson makes a connection. The door
shrieks in its tracks and rumbles aside. It jams
partway open. Apone motions Vasquez inside. She
eases over the wrecked tractor, through the doors.
The others follow.
GORMAN
(voice over;
filtered)
Second team, move up.
Flanking positions.
INT. COLONY - MAIN CONCOURSE 55
DOLLYING SLOWLY FORWARD, following Vasquez and Apone as
they move into the broad corridor. A few emergency
lights are still on. Wind moans along the concourse.
Pools of water cover the floor. Farther down, rain drips
through blast holes in the ceiling. Evidence of a
fire fight with pulse-rifles.
ON VASQUEZ moving forward. Taut. Alert. Her smart-gun
cannon swinging slowly in an arc. She studies the
video aiming monitor, looking down rather than ahead.
Their footsteps echo.
INT. APC 56
Ripley watches as the bobbing images reveal the empty
colony building.
GORMAN
Quarter and search by twos. Second
team move inside. Hicks, take the
upper level. Use your motion
trackers.
INT. MAIN CONCOURSE - SECOND LEVEL 57
Hicks leads his squad up the stairwell to second level.
They emerge cautiously. An empty corridor recedes into
the dim distance. Hicks unslings a rugged piece of
equipment. Aims it down the hall. He adjusts the
"gain." It remains silent.
HICKS
Nothing. No movement.
They pass rooms and offices. Through doors they see
increasing signs of struggle. Furniture overturned.
Papers scattered...floating sodden in the puddles.
INT. APC 58
Ripley et al watching.
BURKE
Looks like my room in college.
Nobody laughs.
INT. SECOND LEVEL 59
Hicks' group passes several burnt-out rooms. There are
no bodies. In several offices the exterior windows are
blown out, admitting wind and rain. Hicks picks up a
half-eaten donut beside a coffee cup overflowing with
rainwater.
INT. LOWER LEVEL - QUARTERS 60
Apone's men are searching systematically in pairs. They
pass through the colonists' modest apartments, little
more than cubicles. Hudson, on tracker, flanks Vasquez
as they move forward. Hudson touches a splash of color
on the wall. Dried blood. His tracker BEEPS.
Vasquez whirls, cannon aimed. The BEEPING grows more
frequent as Hudson advances toward a half open door. The
door is splintered partway out of its frame. Holes
caused by pulse-rifle rounds pepper the walls. Vasquez
eases up to the door. Kicks it in. Tenses to fire.
Inside, dangling from a piece of flex conduit, a
junction-box swings like a pendulum in the wind from a
broken window. It clanks against the rails of a child's
bunkbed as it swings.
INT. DROP-SHIP - APC 61
Ripley watches Hicks' monitor.
RIPLEY
Wait! Tell him to...
(plugs in
headset jack)
...Hicks. Back up. Pan left.
There!
TIGHT ON MONITOR as the image shifts, revealing a
section of wall corroded almost through in an irregular
pattern.
TIGHT ON RIPLEY knowing what it is.
HICKS
(voice over;
filtered)
You seeing this okay? Looks
melted.
Burke raises an eyebrow at Ripley.
BURKE
Hmm. Acid for blood.
HICKS
(voice over;
filtered)
Looks like somebody bagged them
one of Ripley's bad guys here.
INT. FIRST LEVEL 62
Hudson is looking at something.
HUDSON
Hey, if you like that, you're gonna
love this...
WIDER ANGLE showing the trooper standing beneath a
gaping hole. Another hole, directly beneath, is at his
feet. The acid has melted right down through two levels
into the maintenance level. Revealing pipes, conduit,
equipment...eaten away by the ferocious substance.
APONE
Second squad? What's your status?
HICKS
(voice over;
filtered)
Just finished our sweep.
Nobody home.
APONE
(to Gorman)
The place is dead, Sir. Whatever
happened, we missed it.
INT. APC 63
Gorman turns to the others.
GORMAN
All right, the area's secured.
Let's go in and see what their
computer can tell us.
(into mike)
First team head for operations.
Hudson, see if you can get their
CPU on line. Hicks, meet me at
the south lock by the up-link
tower...
INT. FIRST LEVEL 64
GORMAN
(voice over)
...We're coming in.
HUDSON
(cupping his mike)
He's coming in. I feel safer
already.
VASQUEZ
(sotto voice)
Pendejo jerkoff.
EXT. COLONY COMPLEX 65
Lights arc across the dormant buildings as the APC turns
onto the "main drag." It trundles down the rutted
street, throwing up sheets of filthy water as the
massive wheels hit pondlike potholes. Windblown rain
lashes across the headlights.
Hicks emerges from the south lock just as the APC rolls
up close to the entrance. The crew-door slides back.
Gorman emerges, followed by Burke, Bishop, and
Wierzbowski. Burke looks back to see Ripley stop in the
APC doorway, eyeing the ominous colony structure. She
meets his eyes. Shakes her head "no." Not ready.
HUDSON
(voice over;
filtered)
Sir, the CPU is on-line.
GORMAN
Okay, stand by in operations.
(to those present)
Let's go.
INT. APC 66
The crew-door cycles home with a clang. Ripley sits in
the dark interior, lit by the tactical displays. The
wind howls outside, an incredibly desolate sound. She
hugs herself. Alone. Unarmed. She knows she's in a
tank, but remembers the acid. Leaps up. Hits the door
switch.
EXT. APC - SOUTH LOCK 67
The crew-door opens and Ripley emerges. In time to see
the lock doors rumbling closed.
RIPLEY
(shouting)
Burke!
The wind snatches her words away. The crew door whines
shut behind her. She walks to the exterior lock
door-controls and studies them. She punches some
unfamiliar buttons. Nothing happens. She looks really
nervous, alone in the howling wind. She hits another
button. The door-motors come to life and she relaxes
a little. Glances behind her. AND SCREAMS! There's
a face right there! Right at her shoulder. She jumps
back, gasping for breath.
WIERZBOWSKI
Scare you?
RIPLEY
Christ, Wierzbowski!
WIERZBOWSKI
Sorry. Hicks said to keep an
eye on you.
He gestures for her to precede him inside.
INT. CONTROL BLOCK CORRIDOR 68
Ripley catches up with the others as they move into the
bowels of the complex.
GORMAN
(to Burke)
Looks like you company can write
off its share of this colony.
BURKE
(unconcerned)
It's insured.
ON RIPLEY as they move along the corridor...reacting to
the fact that she is back in alien country. She sees
the ravaged administration complex. Fire-gutted offices.
Hicks notices her looking around nervously. He motions
to big Wierzbowski with his eyes and the trooper casually
falls in beside her on the other side, rifle at ready.
a two-man protective cordon. She glances at Hicks. He
winks, but so fast maybe it's something in his eye.
Trooper Frost emerges from a side corridor ahead.
FRONT
Sir, you should check this out...
He leads the way into the corridor.
INT. CORRIDOR 69
This wing is completely without power. The troopers
switch on their pack lights and the beams illuminate
a scene of devastation worse than they have seen. Her
expression reveals that Ripley is about to turn and flee.
FROST
Right ahead here...
They approach a barricade blocking the corridor, a
hastily welded wall of pipes, steel-plate, outer-door
panels. Acid holes have slashed through the floor and
walls in several places. The metal is scratched and
twisted by hideously powerful forces, peeled back like
a soup can on one side. They squeeze through the
opening.
INT. MEDICAL WING 70
They pack-lights play over the devastation of the
colonists' last ditch battle. The equipment of the med
labs has been uprooted to add to the barrier. The walls
are perforated by pulse-rifle fire and acid. Scorched
by untended fires to bare metal. A few instruments glow
with emergency power.
WIERZBOWSKI
Last stand.
GORMAN
No bodies?
FROST
No, Sir. Looks like it was a
helluva fight.
TIGHT ON RIPLEY transfixed by something.
RIPLEY
(low)
Over there.
The others turn and approach, seeing what she sees. She
has entered a second room, part of the med lab area. In
a storage alcove at near eye level stand seven
transparent cylinders. STASIS TUBES. They glow faintly
with an eerie violet light given off by the field which
preserves the specimens inside.
They look like jars containing SEVERED ARTHRITIC HANDS,
the palsied fingers curled in a death-rictus.
Structurally they are more like spiders with sickening
translucent skin, a flacid scrotal body, gill-like
organs underneath drifting in the suspension fluid.
Something you definitely do not want on your face, for
example.
BURKE
Are these the same...?
Ripley nods, unable to speak. Burke leans closer in
fascination. His face almost touching one cylinder, is
lit by its glow.
RIPLEY
Watch it, Burke...
The creature inside lunges suddenly, slamming against
the glass. Burke jumps back. From the palm of the
thing's handlike body emerges a pearl-escent TUBULE.
like a tapered piece of intestine, which slithers
tonguelike over the inside of the glass. Then it
retracts into a sheath between the "gills."
HICKS
(to Burke)
It likes you.
Only two of the creatures seem to pulse with life.
Burke taps the other stasis cylinders but the
hand-things remain inertly clenched.
BURKE
These are dead. There's just
the two alive.
On top of each cylinder is a file folder. Ripley takes
a folder from above one of the live specimens. Inside
is a medical chart printout with handwritten entries.
RIPLEY
(reading)
Removed surgically before embryo
implantation. Subject: Marachuk,
John L. Died during procedure.
(looking up)
They killed him getting it off.
HICKS
Poor bastard.
They are startled by a LOUD BEEP. They turn. Hicks
is intent on his motion tracker, aimed back toward the
shattered barricade. BEEP. BEEP.
HICKS
Behind us.
He gestures at the corridor they just passed through.
RIPLEY
One of us?
GORMAN
(into headset)
Apone...where are your people?
Anybody in D-Block?
APONE
(voice over; filtered)
Negative. We're all in Operations.
Vasquez swings the smart-gun to ready position on
its support arm, locking it with an authoritative
CLICK. She and Hicks head toward the source of the
signal, the others following.
INT. CORRIDOR 71
Hicks' tracker is reading out more rapidly. They
turn into the kitchens, a stainless steel labyrinth.
Ripley hangs back. Then realizes there is nothing
behind her but darkness. She catches up to the group.
INT. KITCHENS 72
The troopers enter, their lights bouncing around the
stainless steel surfaces.
HICKS
It's moving.
Vasquez is scanning, gaze intense. The other troops
grip their weapons tightly.
VASQUEZ
Which way?
Hicks nods toward a complicated array of food
processing equipment. They move forward, weapons
leveled.
Ripley shuffles forward in the dark. Wierzbowski
trips over a metal cannister, sending it CLANGING.
Ripley half climbs the wall.
Hicks' tracker beeps steadily. The beeps merge.
Become a solid tone. CRASH. Something moves in the
dark, toppling a rack of stockpots.
ON VASQUEZ pivoting smoothly to fire. In the same
instant Hicks' rifle slashes INTO FRAME. Slams
Vasquez' barrel upward. A STREAM OF TRACER FIRE rips
into the ceiling, the rounds SEARING LIKE LIGHTNING.
VASQUEZ
You fuck!
Hicks ignores her, moving past and aiming his light
under a row of steel cabinets. He gestures to Ripley,
who steps forward. Trusting his judgment. She
crouches beside him.
RIPLEY'S P.O.V. lit by Hicks' pack-light...a tiny
cowering figure. A very dirty, very terrified
NEWT JORDEN. She clutches a plastic food packet in
one hand, its top gnawed partway through. In the other
hand she grips the HEAD OF A LARGE DOLL, holding it by
the hair. Just the head. Eyes staring. Newt is
pathetically emaciated...fragile-looking as Dresden
china, her hair tangled and matted.
RIPLEY
(soothingly)
Come on out. It's all right...
Ripley moves toward her, reaching slowly under the
cabinet. Newt backs away, trembling visibly, her
vision fixated like a rabbit blinded by headlights.
Ripley's hand almost reaches her.
The kid bolts like a shot, scuttling along beneath the
cabinetry. Ripley scrambles to follow...to keep her
in sight. Crabbing frantically sideways. Hicks makes
a grab, catching one tiny ankle. He snaps his hand
out a moment later.
HICKS
Ow! Shit. Watchit, she bites.
The girl reaches a ventilation duct set in the
baseboard, its grille kicked out. She scrambles
inside, her tiny body barely fitting, wriggling like
a fish.
In his bulky armor Hicks knows he'll never make it
into the tiny duct. Ripley dives. She squirms into
the duct without thinking. Just ahead she sees Newt
enter a dark space and slam a steel hatch. Ripley
pushes the hatch open before the child can latch it,
and crawls in after her.
Newt is backed into a cul-de-sac in the tiny steel
chamber. Ripley shines her light around in amazement.
It is a NEST. A nest built by a child. Wadded up
blankets and pillows line the space, mixed up with a
haphazard array of TOYS, STUFFED ANIMALS, DOLLS, CHEAP
JEWELRY, COMIC BOOKS, EMPTY FOOD PACKETS, even a
battery operated TAPE PLAYER. All foraged from the
wrecked colony. Ripley marvels at the child's
incredible adaptability, the ability to functions even
in this nightmarish environment.
Newt edges along the far wall and dives for the hatch.
Ripley grabs her, controlling her in a bear hug. The
kid struggles wildly, like a cat at the vets. Eyes
wide, hands lashing out in a frenzy...but silent. No
scream.
RIPLEY
It's okay, it's okay. It's over...
you're going to be all right now...
it's okay...you're safe...
Newt goes limp, almost catatonic.
CLOSE ON NEWT'S TRAUMATIZED, VACANT STARE her lips
are white and trembling, her eyes track wildly and
she flinches from unseen terrors. We READ a dark
nightmare world in her eyes.
Ripley's light falls on something amidst the debris...
a FRAMED PHOTOGRAPH of Newt, dressed up and smiling,
a ribbon in her hair. In embossed gold letters
underneath it says:
FIRST GRADE CITIZENSHIP AWARD
REBECCA JORDEN
INT. OPERATIONS - ON NEWT - MANAGER'S OFFICE 73
sitting huddles in a chair, arms around her knees.
Looking at a point in space.
GORMAN
(o.s.)
What's her name again?
DIETRICH
(o.s.)
Rebecca.
WIDER ANGLE REVEALING Gorman sitting in front of her
while Dietrich watches the readouts from a
BIO-MONITORING CUFF wrapped around Newt's tiny arm.
GORMAN
Now think, Rebecca.
Concentrate. Just start at
the beginning...
No response. Ripley enters, carrying a coffee mug.
GORMAN
Where are your parents? You
have to try...
RIPLEY
(sharply)
Gorman! Give it a rest would
you.
Gorman stands with a sigh of dismissal.
GORMAN
Total brain-lock.
DIETRICH
(shrugs)
Physically she's okay.
Borderline malnutrition, but
I don't think any permanent
damage.
She unsnaps the bio-monitoring cuff.
GORMAN
Come on, we're wasting our
time.
Gorman and the others exit, leaving only Ripley with
Newt. Through the window of the office, out on the
main floor of the operations room, we SEE Gorman
join Burke and Bishop at a computer terminal.
Ripley kneels beside Newt, brushing the girl's unkempt
hair out of her eyes in a gentle, maternal fashion.
RIPLEY
Here, try this. A little
instant hot chocolate.
She wraps the child's hands around the cup. Raises
it to her lips for her. The girl drinks mechanically,
spilling down her chin.
RIPLEY
(soothing)
Poor thing. You don't talk
much do you? That's okay by
me. Most people do a lot of
talking and they wind up not
saying very much.
She sets the cup down and wipes the child's chin clean.
RIPLEY
Uh oh. I made a clean spot
here. Now I've done it. Guess
I'll just have to do the whole
thing.
She pours water from a squeeze bottle onto a small
cloth and gently washes the little girl's face.
Newt's eyes seem to focus on her for the first time.
RIPLEY
Hard to believe...there's a
little girl under all this.
And a pretty one at that.
Newt gazes at her. Ripley smiles.
INT. OPERATIONS 74
The ground teams are gathered around a terminal in
the computer center. Hudson has the CPU main computer
on-line and reading out.
TIGHT ON MONITOR SCREEN as an abstract of the main
colony ground plan drifts across the screen.
Searching.
Hudson bashes at the keyboard, his fingers dancing
expertly.
BURKE
(to Gorman)
What's he scanning for?
GORMAN
PDT'S. Personal-Data Transmitters.
Every adult colonist had one
surgically implanted.
HUDSON
If they're within twenty
klicks we'll read it out here,
but so far...zip.
INT. OFFICE 75
Ripley is washing Newt's tiny hands with a cloth,
pink skin emerging from black grime.
RIPLEY
I don't know how you managed
to stay alive but you're one
brave kid, Rebecca.
Newt's voice is almost inaudible.
NEWT
N-newt.
Ripley leans closer. Feels like she's breathing
on coals. The sound was incomprehensible.
RIPLEY
What did you say?
NEWT
Newt. My n-name's Newt.
Nobody calls me Rebecca except
my dork brother.
Ripley grins inanely, not wanting to move or speak...
or break the spell.
RIPLEY
Well, Newt it is then. My
name's Ripley...and people
call me Ripley.
Ripley picks up her tiny limp hand, shaking it
formally.
RIPLEY
Pleased to meet you. And who
is this? Does she have a
name?
Newt glances at the disembodied doll, still clutched
in one filthy hand.
NEWT
Casey. She's my only friend.
RIPLEY
What about me?
Newt's reply is flat, neutral.
NEWT
I don't want you for a friend.
RIPLEY
Why not?
NEWT
Because you'll be gone soon,
like the others. Like
everybody. You'll be dead
and you'll leave me alone.
Ripley gazes at her, chilled both by the ominous
statement and by the situation which could have
produced this outlook in a child.
RIPLEY
Oh, Newt. You mom and dad
went away like that, didn't
they?
Newt nods, staring at her knees.
RIPLEY
(soothingly)
They'd be here if they could,
honey. I know they would.
NEWT
(with cold certainty)
They're dead.
RIPLEY
Newt. Look at me...Newt. I
won't leave you. I promise.
NEWT
You promise?
RIPLEY
Cross my heart.
NEWT
And hope to die?
Ripley smiles grimly at the inadvertently macabre
expression.
RIPLEY
(quietly)
And hope to die.
And because she's a child, the darkest terrors, even
the ones seen and not imagined, can still be banished
by a smile and a single promise.
Newt's eyes brim as she gazes at Ripley. Her lower
lip starts to tremble, and her face slowly deforms
into an abject mask. She sobs as she clamps her arms
around Ripley's neck. The sobs come in waves as
Ripley rocks her, tears of suppresses terror and
grief and hurt rolling down her face. It is a
breakthrough.
Ripley closes her eyes, hoping that this promise
can be kept.
INT. OPERATIONS 76
Everyone jumps as Hudson cries out triumphantly.
HUDSON
Hah! Stop your grinnin' and
drop your linen! Found 'em.
GORMAN
Alive?
HUDSON
Unknown. But, it looks like
all of them. Over at the
processing station...sublevel
'C' under the south tower.
TIGHT ON SCREEN showing an amoebalike cluster of
flashing blue dots clumped tightly in one area.
HICKS
Looks like a Goddamn town
meeting.
GORMAN
Let's saddle up.
APONE
Awright, let's go girls, they
ain't payin' us by the hour.
EXT. ACHERON - TWILIGHT 77
The APC roars across the stygian landscape, traversing
the causeway which connects the colony to the
ATMOSPHERE STATION a kilometer away. Behind it the
drop-ship settles to the ground at the colony landing
field.
PAN WITH THE APC TO REVEAL the massive structure.
Like a vast foundry the conical exhaust tower
flickers with spectral light.
INT. APC 78
The troopers sit, more subdued now, swaying and
bouncing in the heavily sprung vehicle. Wierzbowski
is in the saddle. Ripley and Newt sit side by side
just aft of the driver's cockpit.
NEWT
I was the best at the game.
I knew the whole maze.
RIPLEY
The 'maze'? You mean the
air ducts?
NEWT
Yeah, you know. In the walls,
under the floor. I was the
ace. I could hide better
than anybody.
RIPLEY
You're really something, ace.
Ripley's gaze shifts out the windshield as the
processing station looms ahead.
EXT. APC/STATION 79
The vast structure towers above the parked personnel
carrier. Deploying in front of the APC, backlit by
its lights, the troopers cast long shadows. They
look ominous. Hulking techno-samurai.
The base of the station is a depthless maze of
conduits and pressure vessels, like an oil refinery.
Or a Dantean version of one. The THRUM of
functioning machine systems echoes through the
labyrinth.
GORMAN
(voice over; static)
Forty meters in. Ramp on
axial two-two. Access to
sublevels.
The troopers start down the open rampway. Light
filters down through several levels of steel mesh
floor, catwalks and pipes. Below that is darkness.
GORMAN
(voice over; static)
B-Level. Next one down.
The thrumming of machines grows louder as they
descend.
INT. APC 80
Huddles around the screens are Ripley, Burke and
Gorman. Newt squeezes in from behind. Gorman is
doing his video wizard bit, dancing on the buttons.
GORMAN
(to team)
We're not making that out too
well. What is it?
HUDSON
(voice over; static)
You tell me. I only work
here.
INT. COMPLEX 81
The group stands before a bizarre tableau. Among
the refinerylike lattice of pipes and conduits
something new and not of human design had been
added.
It is a structure of some sort, extending from and
crudely imitating the complex of plumbing, but made
of some strange encrusted substance. It vaguely
resembles the chambered nests of swallows on a much
larger scale, and it attenuates so gradually into
the original hardware that it is hard to see where
one ends and the other begins.
The alien structure seems to extend far back into
the complex of machinery. The plant thrums loudly,
its functioning seemingly not impaired.
INT. APC 82
Ripley stares at the scene in dread fascination.
GORMAN
What is it?
RIPLEY
I don't know.
GORMAN
(to team)
Proceed inside.
INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE 83
They enter the organic labyrinth, playing their
lights over the walls. Revealing a BIO-MECHANICAL
LATTICE, like the marrow of some vast bone. The air
is thick with STEAM. Trickling water. The place
seems almost alive.
INT. APC 84
They watch in various helmet-camera P.O.V.'s of the
wall detail.
RIPLEY
(low)
Oh God...
CLOSE ON VIDEO as it PAN SLOWLY...REVEALING a
bas-relief of detritus from the colony: furniture,
wiring, human bones, skulls...Fused together with a
translucent, epoxylike substance.
DIETRICH
(voice over; static)
Looks like some sort of secreted
resin.
GORMAN
They ripped apart the colony
for building materials.
RIPLEY
And the colonists...When they
were done with them.
(turning)
Newt, you better go sit up
front. Go on.
INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE 85
Steam swirls around them as the troopers move deeper
inside.
FROST
Hotter'n hell in here.
HUDSON
Yeah...but it's a dry
heat.
INT. APC 86
Ripley leans forward suddenly, studying the graphic
readout of the STATION GROUND PLAN.
RIPLEY
They're right under the
primary heat exchangers.
BURKE
Yeah? Maybe the organisms like
the heat, that's why they built...
RIPLEY
That's not what I mean. Gorman,
if your men have to use their
weapons in there, they'll rupture
the cooling system.
BURKE
(realizing)
She's right.
GORMAN
So.
RIPLEY
So...then the fusion
containment shuts down.
GORMAN
(impatient)
So? So?
BURKE
We're talking thermonuclear
explosion.
GORMAN
Shit.
(into
mike)
Apone, collect magazines
from everybody. We can't
have any firing in there.
INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE 87
The troopers look at each other in dismay.
WIERZBOWSKI
Is he fucking crazy?
HUDSON
What're we supposed to use,
man? Harsh language?
GORMAN
(voice over; static)
Flame-units only. I want
rifles slung.
APONE
Let's go. Pull 'em out.
He walks among the troopers, collecting the magazines
from each one's weapon.
Vasquez turns hers over reluctantly.
The three who are carrying them get out small
incinerator units. When Apone moves on, Vasquez
slips a spare magazine from concealment and inserts
it in her weapon. Drake does the same. Hicks hangs
back in the shadows. He opens a cylindrical sheath
attached to his battle-harness. Slides out an
old style PUMP TWELVE-GAUGE with a sawed-off butt
stock. Chambers a round.
HICKS
(low,
to Hudson)
I always keep this handy.
For close encounter.
APONE
(o.s.)
Let's move. Hicks, back
us up.
INT. LARGER CHAMBER 88
The air is thick. Lights flare.
GORMAN
(voice over;
very faint)
Any movement?
Hudson watches his tracker, scanning.
HUDSON
Nothing. Zip.
Apone stops, his expression changing. They face a
wall of living horror. The colonists have been
brought here and entombed alive...
COCOONS protrude from the niches and interstices
of the structure. The cocoon material is the same
translucent epoxy. The bodies are frozen in
carelessly twisted positions. Macabre image of
frozen agony. Many are disiccated. Skeletal.
Rip-cages burst outward, as if exploded from within.
Paralyzed, brought here, entombed in living death
as hosts for the embryos growing within then.
Dietrich moves close to examine one of the figures,
perhaps the most "recent." A WOMAN, ghost-white
and drained. The WOMAN'S EYES SNAP OPEN...They
seem to plead.
DIETRICH
Sir!
The woman's lips move feebly.
WOMAN
Please...God...kill me.
INT. APC 89
Ripley watches the woman, white knuckled. The
sound of RETCHING comes over the general frequency.
INT. COCOON CHAMBER 90
The woman begins to convulse. She SCREAMS, a
sawing shriek of mindless agony.
APONE
Flame thrower! Move!
Frost hands it to him. Suddenly, the woman's chest
EXPLODES in a gout of blood. A SMALL FANGED HEAD
EMERGES, HISSING VICIOUSLY.
Apone pulls the trigger. Then the other troopers
carrying flame throwers open fire. An orgy of
purging fire. The cocoons vanish in the shimmering
heat.
A SHRILL SCREECHING begins, like a siren made from
fingernails on blackboards.
ANGLE ON WALL as something begins to emerge. Dimly
glimpsed, a glistening bio-mechanoid creature larger
then a man. Lying dormant, it had blended perfectly
with the convoluted surface of fused bone. The
troopers don't see it. Smoke from the burning cocoons
quickly fills the confined space. Visibility drops
to zero.
HUDSON
Movement!
APONE
Position?
HUDSON
Can't lock up...
APONE
(with an edge)
Talk to me, Hudson.
HUDSON
Uh, seems to be in front
and behind.
INT. APC 91
Gorman is plating with the gain controls on the
monitors.
GORMAN
We can't see anything back
here, Apone. What's going on?
Ripley senses it coming, like a wave at night. Dark,
terrifying and inevitable.
RIPLEY
(low)
Pull you team out, Gorman.
INT. COCOON CHAMBER - TIGHT ON SEVERAL WALLS AND 92
CEILING NICHES
as they come alive. Bonelike, tubelike shapes shift,
becoming emerging ALIENS. Dimly glimpsed...glints
of slime. Silhouettes.
APONE
Go to infrared. Looks sharp
people!
The squad members snap down their image-intersifier
visors.
HUDSON
Multiple signals. All round.
Closing.
Dietrich turns to retreat, her flamethrower held
tightly. A nightmarish silhouette materializes out
of the smoke behind her! It strikes like lightning.
SEIZES HER. She fires reflexively, wild. The jet
of flame engulfs Frost nearby.
Apone spins as the double SCREAM. Can't see anything
in the think smoke.
INT. APC 93
Ripley watches Frost's monitor go black. His
bio-readouts flatten. The other screens show glimpses
of shimmering infrared silhouettes of the aliens, the
images bobbing and panning confusedly.
INT. COCOON CHAMBER 94
Vasquez nods to Drake with grim satisfaction.
VASQUEZ
Let's rock.
They OPEN UP simultaneously, lighting up the smoke
like welders' arcs.
GORMAN
(voice over; static)
Who's firing? I ordered a
hold fire, dammit!
Vasquez rips off her headset. She is riveted to the
targetting screen, moving ferret-quick in a pivoting
dance. Thunder and lightning. Better than sex for
her. FLASH-CRACK! An alien SCREECH from the darkness.
INT. APC 95
The battle of phantoms unfolds on the video screens.
Ripley flinches as another scream comes over the
open frequency. Wierzbowski's monitor breaks up.
His life signs plummet. Voices blend and overlap.
HUDSON
(voice over)
Let's get the fuck out of
here!
HICKS
(voice over)
Not that tunnel, the other
one!
CROWE
(voice over)
You sure? Watch it...behind
you. Fucking move, will you!
Gorman is ashen. Confused. Gulping for air like a
grouper. How could the situation have unravelled
so fast?
RIPLEY
(to Gorman)
GET THEM OUT OF THERE! DO
IT NOW!
GORMAN
Shut up. Just shut up!
CRASH! Crowe's telemetry cuts off like the plug was
pulled. Flat line.
GORMAN
Uh,...Apone, I want you to
lay down a suppressing fire
with the incinerators and
fall back by squads to the
APC, over.
APONE
(voice over;
heavy static)
Say again? All after
incinerators?
Ripley watches it fall apart.
GORMAN
I said...
INT. COCOON CHAMBER 96
Apone adjusts his headset.
GORMAN
(voice over;
static)
...lay down (garbled) ...by
squads to...(garbled)
Gorman's voice breaks up completely. A SCREAM.
Apone whirls, uncertain.
APONE
Dietrich? Crowe? Sound
off! Wierzbowski?
Nothing. He spins. Almost blows Hudson's head
off.
HUDSON
(freaked)
We're getting juked! We're
gonna die in here!
Apone hands him a magazine. Hudson slaps it home,
looking truly terrified.
APONE
Yeah. Right. Right! Fuck
the heat exchanger!
He FIRES. Vasquez, nearby, is laying down a
horrendous field of fire. Strobe-bright flashes
sear the darkness. She pivots, firing mechanically
in controlled bursts. Scoring points in her own
private video game.
She SPINS as Hicks approached laterally. WHAM! She
fires "at" him. Hicks whirls...to see a nightmarish
figure right behind him, catapulted backwards by
Vasquez' blast.
INT. APC 97
Apone's monitor SPINS CRAZILY AND GOES DARK.
GORMAN
(distantly)
I told them to fall back...
RIPLEY
(viciously)
They're but off! Do something!
But he's gone. Total brain-lock.
TIGHT ON RIPLEY as she struggles with a decision.
She's terrified...of what she knows she's about to
do. But more than that, she's furious. Shouldering
past a paralyzed Gorman she runs up the aisle of the
APC.
RIPLEY
(in passing)
Newt, put your seatbelt on!
Ripley jumps into the driver's seat of the APC. Takes
a deep breath. Starts slapping switches.
GORMAN
Ripley, what the hell...?
She slams the tractor into gear.
EXT. APC 98
as the drive-wheels spin on the wet ground. The
massive machine leaps forward.
INT. APC 99
Ripley sees smoke pouring out of the complex ahead
as she slides sideways onto the descending rampway.
She slams the left and right drive-wheel actuators
viciously, spinning the machine in a roaring pivot.
Gorman lunges forward along the aisle, abandoning
his command center.
GORMAN
(shrill)
What are you doing? Turn
around! That's an order!
He claws at her, hysterical. Burke pulls him off.
INT. ALIEN STRUCTURE 100
The APC roars down into the smoky structure, tearing
away outcroppings of alien-encrustation. Ripley hits
the floodlights. Strobe-beacon. Siren. She homes
on the flash of weapons fire ahead.
INT. COCOON CHAMBER 101
The APC crashes inside, showering debris. Hicks,
supporting a limping Hudson, appears out of the smoke.
The APC pulls up broadside and Burke gets the crew-door
open.
Drake and Vasquez back out of the dense mist, firing as
they fall back.
Drake goes empty, slams the buckles cutting loose his
smart-gun harness, and unslings a flame thrower.
Hicks pushes Hudson inside, leaps in after him and
drags Vasquez inside, massive gear and all. She sees
a DARK SHAPE lunge toward Drake. She fires one burst,
prone. Clean body hit.
The flash lights up the hideous inhuman grin, blowing
open the thing's thorax. A spray of BRIGHT YELLOW
ACID slashes across Drake's face and chest, eating
into him like a hot knife through butter. He drops
in boiling smoke, reflexively triggering his flame
thrower.
The jet of liquid fire arcs around as he falls,
engulfing the back half of the APC.
INT. APC 102
Vasquez rolls aside as a gout of napalm shoots
through the crew-door, setting the interior on fire.
Hicks is rolling the door closed when Vasquez lunges,
clawing out the opening. He stops her, dragging her
inside.
VASQUEZ
Drake! He's down!
Hicks screams right in her face.
HICKS
He's gone! Forget it, he's
gone!
VASQUEZ
(irrational)
No.. No, he's not. He's --
Burke and Hudson help him drag her from the door.
HICKS
(to Ripley)
Let's go!
Ripley jams reverse. Nails the throttle. The APC
bellows backward up the ramp. Hudson disappears
under a pile of equipment as a storage rack breaks
free. Hicks gets the door almost closed. Suddenly
CLAWS appear at the edge. Newt screams. Against
the combined efforts of Hicks, Burke and Vasquez
the door is being SLOWLY WRENCHED OPEN FROM OUTSIDE.
Hicks yells at a paralyzed Gorman.
HICKS
Get on the Goddamn door!
Gorman backs away, eyes wide. Hicks jams his shoulder
against the latching lever and frees one hand to raise
his 12-gauge. An alien head wedges through the opening,
its hideous mouth opening. And Hicks jams his SHOTGUN
MUZZLE between its jaws and pulls the trigger! BLAM!
The creature is flung backward, its shattered head
fountaining acid blood. The spray eats into the door,
the deck, hits Hudson on the arm. He shrieks. They
slide the door home and dog it tight.
EXT. APC 103
The armored vehicle roars backward up the ramp. Slams
into a mass of conduit. Tears free. Ripley works the
shifters, pivoting the massive machine. Everybody's
shouting, trying to put out the fire. Pandemonium.
INT./EXT. APC 104-
105
Something lands on the roof with a metallic clang.
Gorman has plastered himself against a wall, as far
from the door as possible. A latch lever behind his
head turns. The small hatch against which he was
leaning is ripped away and SOMETHING snatches him out
the opening He disappears to the waist with a shriek,
legs kicking. The alien clings to the roof, pulling
him out. Its tail whips over, scorpionlike, and
buries a four inch stinger in Gorman's shoulder.
Hicks grabs a joy stick at the FIRE-CONTROL CONSOLE
and turns it rapidly. On the roof the alien looks up
as servo-motors whir. A remote control turret cannon,
a 20mm chain-gun, swivels toward it in a curt arc.
VOOM. The creature is blasted off the vehicle's
armored back and tumbles away. Gorman, slumped
unconscious, is dragged back inside.
The APC rips away a section of catwalk and heads for
clear air, its flank trailing fire like a comet.
Ripley fights the controls as the big machine slews,
broadsiding a control-room out-building. Office
furniture and splintered wall sections are strewn in
the APC's wake.
Suddenly, an alien arm arcs down, right in front of
Ripley's face. It smashes the windshield. Glistening,
hideous jaws lunge inside...
Ripley recoils. Face to face once again with the same
mind-numbing horror. She reacts instinctively. Slams
both sets of brakes with all her strength. The huge
wheels lock. The creature flips off, landing in the
headlights. Ripley hits full throttle. The APC roars
forward, smashing over the abomination. Its skeletal
body is crushed under the massive wheels. It rolls,
tumbling...lost in the dar