PITCH BLACK

     As Paris unlocks, Johns steadies himself, suddenly light-headed.

                              FRY
               S'matter?

                              JOHNS
               Little swamp-flu from the Conga system.
               Never shook it with all this cryo-sleep.

     Paris opens his container to reveal...

     INT. PARIS' CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - DAY

     Tiffany chairs stacked 10 high. Bronze eagle lecterns. Oriental
     umbrellas. Neo-Egyptian castings.

                              JOHNS
               King Tut's tomb....

                              PARIS
               Be surprised what these will fetch in the
               Taurus system. Here. This Wooten here --
               easy, easy. Very rare.

     They open the Wooten desk. Cubbyholed inside are dusty bottles
     of sherry. Vintage Port. Glenfiddich. Bicardi 151.

                              FRY
               This is it? Booze? That's what you have
               to drink?

                              PARIS
                         (educating her)
               200-year-old single-malt scotch is to
               "booze" as foie gras is to "duck guts."

                              JOHNS
                         (cracking a bottle)
               A toast to whatever he just said.

                              PARIS
               I'll need a receipt for that.
                         (to Fry)
               For all these.

                              FRY
               Top of my list.

     She joins Johns for a drink. Entering, the Chrislams watch with
     both envy and aversion.

                              FRY
               I don't suppose....

                              IMAM
               One of the Christian habits we didn't
               adopt -- perhaps unfortunately. We'll
               have to wait.

                              JOHNS
               For what? There is no water. You
               understand that, don't you?

                              IMAM
               All deserts have water, somewhere. God
               shall lead us there.

     INT. MAIN CABIN - CRASH SHIP - DAY

     START on the cutting torch, abandoned in wreckage. Staring at it
     is...

     Riddick. With his hands cuffed behind him and around a bulkhead,
     he can't get near it. Or can he? Near the ceiling, the bulkhead
     is fractured -- a slim spot where maybe chains could pass through.

     Riddick stands. With a GRUESOME POPPING, he dislocates both
     shoulders...carries his arms overhead...passes the chains through
     the broken spot...and brings his arms down in front of him. A
     body-flex POPS HIS SHOULDERS back into joint.

     Free, he reaches for the cutting torch.

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DAY

     Pistol in hand, Johns runs into a BIG CLOSEUP, eyes sweeping.
     Nothing on the horizon. But something lies on the ground nearby.
     It's Riddick's mouth-bit.

                              JOHNS
               Like we needed another way to die.

     INT. CARGO HOLD - DAY

     FAST CLOSEUPS: Hands pillaging storage lockers, pulling out
     anything that might qualify as a "weapon." It all gets hauled
     back and dumped into...

     INT. NAV BAY - CRASH SHIP - DAY

     Nav-bay. Gathered, the survivors take inventory: Johns has a
     pistol, shotgun, baton. Zeke and Shazza offer up a pick-ax,
     digging tools, hunting boomerang. Imam shows a ceremonial blade.
     Paris straggles in with antique curios.

                              JOHNS
               What the hell are these?

                              PARIS
               Maratha crow-bill war-picks from Northern
               India. Very rare.

                              ZEKE
               An' this?

                              PARIS
               Blow-dart hunting stick from Papua New
               Guinea. Very very rare, since the tribe's
               extinct.

                              ZEKE
               'Cuz they couldn't hunt shit with these
               things, be my guess.

                              PARIS
               Well, what's the need, anyway? If he's
               gone, he's gone. Why should he bother us?

                              JOHNS
               First, because he can only live out there
               for so long -- he's gonna come back and
               take what we got. Second, for the sheer
               thrill of the kill.

     A beat. They all grab for weapons.

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DAY

     Johns stands atop the crash ship, scanning with a scope. He
     fixates on...

     A blue glow on the horizon. "What the hell is it?"

     Zeke and Shazza modify breather units, adding straps and tubing
     and ball-floats. The prototype is tested on Audrey. She sucks
     on the mouthpiece -- and finds that it works, supplying oxygen on
     demand rather than in a constant flow.

     Chrislams convert to traditional bedouin head-gear, readying for
     travel.

     Fry finishes wrapping Owens' body. She looks to the yellow sun,
     low on the horizon. The red sun seems inclined to follow.

                              FRY
               Imam. We should leave soon. Before
               nightfall but while it's cooler.

                              ZEKE
               What, you're goin' off, too?

                              FRY
               Johns is leaving you a gun. Just do me a
               favor, huh? Get my crewies buried? They
               were good guys who died bad.

                              SHAZZA
               A'course we will.

                              PILGRIM #1 (O.S.)
               Imam...Imam....

     (NOTE: "Imam" is pronounced "el-ee-MAM.")

     Fry and the others round the ship to see...

     A blue star flaring into view. It's rising as the other suns are
     setting.

                              SHAZZA
               My bloody oath....

                              AUDREY
               Three suns?

                              ZEKE
                         (to Fry)
               So much for your nightfall.

                              PARIS
               So much for my cocktail hour.

                              IMAM
               We take this to be a good sign -- a path,
               a direction from God.

     Johns swings down from the top of the ship.

                              JOHNS
               A very good sign.
                         (re: blue sun)
               That's Riddick's direction. You do not
               wanna be caught in the dark with this guy.

                              FRY
               Thought you found his restraints over
               there. Toward sunset.

                              JOHNS
                         (nodding)
               Which means he went toward sunrise.

     EXT. PLANET - DAY

     Trekking, the Chrislams waft incense pots and CHANT FROM
     THE KORAN as they head toward the blue star. Johns provides
     shotgun escort; Fry carries Paris' second war-pick on a shoulder.
     Silhouetted against the alien sky, the scouting party is an odd,
     odd sight.

     Already sun-battered, Johns crafts an eye-visor out of plexi.
     Fry tries to wrap her head like the Chrislams. Imam helps.

                              FRY
               So quiet. You get used to the sounds of
               the ship, then....

                              IMAM
               You know who Muhammad was?

                              FRY
               Some prophet guy?

                              IMAM
               "Some prophet guy." And a city man. But
               he had to travel to the desert -- where
               there was quiet -- to hear the words of
               God.

                              FRY
               You were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca?

                              IMAM
                         (nodding)
               Chrislam teaches that once in every
               lifetime should there be a great hajj --
               a great pilgrimage. To know God, better,
               yes, but to know yourself as well.

                              FRY
               Frightening thought.

                              IMAM
                         (finishes wrapping her)
               We're all on the same hajj now.

     Fry notices Johns scope-locked on something.

                              FRY
               What?

                              JOHNS
                         (hands her scope)
               Tell me it's not a mirage.

     SCOPE POV: Beyond a distant rise, strange branches.

                              FRY
               Trees?

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DAY

     Paris has taken over as look-out atop the ship. He deals with
     the heat by erecting a "misting" umbrella: He fills a reservoir
     with liquor, dials up a regulator. Umbrella spars shoot bursts
     of cooling alcohol vapor. Paris luxuriates in it.

                              ZEKE (O.S.)
               Comfy up there?

     Zeke appears below. He loads a scrap-metal sled with tarp,
     cable, pick-ax.

                              PARIS
               Amazing how you can do without the
               essentials of life -- so long as you have
               the luxuries.

                              ZEKE
               Well, just keep your bloody-fuckin' eyes
               open. Don't want that ratbag sneakin' up
               on me bloody-fuckin' arse.

     He drags the sled toward the spired hills. Keeping one eye on
     Zeke, Paris eases into a chair, lays the war-pick across his lap,
     pours himself a spot of sherry. As he sips, a blade touches his
     throat.

                              AUDREY
               He'd probably get you right here, right
               under the jaw. And you'd never hear him
               coming. That's how good Riddick is.

     Paris eases the hunting boomerang away.

                              PARIS
               Now did you run away from your parents?
               Or did they run away from you?

     EXT. BONEYARD OVERLOOK - DAY

     The scouting party approaches a rise. The trees loom just beyond.

                              PILGRIMS
               Allahu Akbar...Allahu Akbar....

     The young pilgrims break into a excited run, anticipating an
     oasis. But Fry hangs back, taking a harder look at the trees.
     They don't move in the wind.

     The pilgrims scramble up the rise -- and go motionless. Fry,
     Johns and Imam catch up to behold...

     The "trees" are actually the dorsal bones of a titanic skeleton,
     tinted green by lichen. Beyond is a sea of bleached animal
     bones. Impossibly, the bones seem to MOAN IN PAIN. All told,
     it's like Hell overflowed right here.

                              FRY
               Is this whole planet dead?

     A pilgrim questions Imam IN ARABIC.

                              IMAM
               He asks what could have killed so many
               great things...
        

     EXT. BONEYARD - DAY

     Moving into the boneyard:

                              IMAM
               Some...communal graveyard, perhaps...
               like the elephants of Earth....

     Fry touches one of the towering bones. It shows cut-marks --
     almost as if the bone was hacked by a sword. "Graveyard? Or
     killing field?"

                              JOHNS
               Long time ago. Whatever happened.

     EXT. SKULL - BONEYARD - DAY

     Pilgrim #1 reaches a huge skull laced with baleen-like combing.
     Wind hitting the comb makes a LOW HARMONIC MOANING. By
     moving a hand over the comb, the pilgrim can "play" DIRGELIKE
     MUSIC. Wanting to show off the trick:

                              PILGRIM #1
               Ah....