Alien³

JACKSON

Quickest way.

Flips the map shut. Spence is trying to comfort Halliday.

INT. AQUACULTURE FARM

An automated fish farm; factory space ranged with dozens of waist-high round white vats of dark green water. Low ceiling, dim light. Sweeps rotate slowly across the water in some vats; others are still, with floating green vegetation.

Hicks leads the party along a narrow aisle between the vats. Jackson pauses to check her map and watch; Hicks light a cigarette, leans his elbow against the nearest vat.

JACKSON

We're doing okay...

The surface of the water behind Hicks' elbow erupts as the fish go into a feed frenzy. He yelps and jumps back, dropping his cigarette.

SPENCE

Bass. They're just hungry... Ready to be harvested.

HICKS

Sure. Let's get out of here, okay?

The others follow, keeping their distance from the vats.

INT. ELEVATOR SHAFT

Bishop jumps down, dodges a dangling power cable, squints through the smoke. Finds a manual emergency level that opens the shaft's door.

INT. TUNNEL

A blast of air fans the flames behind him as he steps out. The carrier is there, among the scattered crates, where Hicks left it. Bishop climbs in, tries the power. A feeble whine. Touches another button.  The dash flashes "BATTERY RECHARGE."  He climbs down an sets off along the tunnel at a jog.

INT. AEROPONICS FARM

State of the art. Epcot-style soilless cultivation. Tall A-frame structures of white styrofoam are studded with hundreds of precisely spaced plants, their roots watered by periodic bursts of high-pressure mist. Vegetables sprout from the sides of tapering styrofoam columns. All of the wreathed in mist under brilliant halogen lamps.

Hicks scans the chamber, gun ready, as the party emerges from a hatch in the white deck behind him. Spence has to help Halliday, whose cheeks are streaked with tears. Rosetti's up last, clutching his pulse-rifle a bit too tightly, eyes darting around the chamber.

HICKS

Keep the safety on, Colonel. You could hurt somebody.

He kneels beside the hatch, takes plastique and a grenade from his harness, and slaps together another bomb.

ROSETTI

What are you doing?

HICKS

They may be following us.

He closes the hatch over the charge and locks it. Halliday starts to weep hysterically in Spence's arms; goes to her knees, the tries to curl into a fetal position on the white deck, shuddering, crying like a child. Rosetti rushes over as Spence is trying to get her to her feet.

ROSETTI

They'll hear you!

Rosetti slaps Halliday's face, hard; eliciting a piercing scream. Spence – no hesitation – punches him solidly in the face; his head snaps back and he's down, reaching for his rifle.

Tableau: Spence furious, ready to kick ass; Halliday wide-eyed, stunned into silence by Spence's move; Rosetti with blood on his mouth and his hand on his gun.

JACKSON

(to Rosetti; cocking her gun)

Try it.

Hicks breaks the spell:

HICKS

(drill sergeant bellow)

Two minute fuse! Hall ass people!

The Lab Tech grabs Halliday, throws her over his shoulder, and runs. The others scramble after him, including Rosetti, whose drive to self-preservation is paramount. Hicks and Spence take up the rear.

Hicks shoots her a grin as they run.

LONG SHOT down the aisle of aeroponic greenery, high-tech Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the lifeboat party approaching. Behind them, the hatch lifts off ist hinges with the EXPLOSION, CRASHES back in a tangle of metal. Several of the party are thrown to the deck.

JACKSON

(quietly; urgently; as the others pick themselves up)

Hicks!

HICKS
Yeah?

JACKSON

Look...

She points down another aisle of aeroponic structures.

JACKSON

(continuing)

What the hell's that?

Two of the Styrofoam structures have been overgrown with a grayish parody of vegetation, glistening vine-like structures and bulbous sacs the echo the Alien biomech motif. Patches of thick black mold spread to the styrofoam and the white deck.

HICKS

It was... cabbages or something...

TATSUMI

(with the others)

Come, please, Jackson! Which way?

JACKSON

(gripping Hicks' arm; pulling him along)

Spence said it did her monkeys, too...

(raising her voice)

Third door to the right!

INT. TUNNEL NEAR FUSION PACKAGE

Bishop comes loping down the tunnel, a certain effortless regularity evident in his run. Makes a turn into the chamber that houses the fusion package, Anchorpoint's power source. The chamber is spotless, well lit; the only sign of the current disaster is the smoke. The fusion package itself is no bigger than a Volkswagen bus, but it's obviously Anchorpoint's heart. Bishop climbs a narrow metal stairway to an overhanging control booth resembling the inverted turrent of a streamlined tank. A mirrored disk is mounted on the face of the armored hatch, above a small slot.

SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)

(bland feminine synthi-voice)

Please identify yourself.

Bishop removes his dogtags. As he inserts one in the slot, he presses the palm on his other hand against the mirrored surface.

BISHOP

Bishop, Science Officer, Hyperdyne A-slash-5, Mark 3, serial number PL3358172438. Permission to inspect software safety protocols.

SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)

Permission denied. Inadequate rank. Please refer request to your immediate supervisor.

The slot tries to reject his tag. He shove it back in.

BISHOP

Emergency protocols. Code Theta Five Three. Authority Rosetti comma Shuman.

SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)

Permission denied. Inadequate rank. Please refer request to your immediate supervisor.

It ejects his tag. He drops his hand from the disk, stares at his reflection in the mirrored surface. Blinks. Re-inserts dog tags, palm on disk again.

BISHOP

Emergency protocols. Code Theta Five Three. Authority Welles comma Fox.

The door HISSES open instantly. He climbs in.

INT. CONTROL BOOTH

Surgically clean, unused – Jackson ordinarily runs the show from Operations. Bishop settles into the operator's chair, facing three blank monitors.

BISHOP

Protocols, safety.

The central screen displays an elaborate menu.

BISHOP

(continuing)

Overload failsafes.

The left screen displays a shorter menu.

BISHOP

(continuing)

Bypass overload failsafes.

A red light begins to flash.

SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)

Permission denied. Inadequate rank. Please refer –

BISHOP

Cancel request. Request display overload failsafe software.

SECURITY PROGRAM (V.O.)

Permission denied. Inadequate rank. Please refer –

BISHOP

Authority Welles comma Fox –

The right screen displays an animated diagram, thousands of interweaving lines and symbols, moving ceaselessly, hypnotically. Bishop studies the screen with Zen calm, his hands poised like a pianist's above the keyboard.

And makes his move, a cybernetic reprise of the knife sequence that introduced him in "ALIENS."  His fingers blur across the board with inhuman speed and accuracy as he races the fusion softwares's security system.

The lines on the screen squirm and shift,  A "window" begins to open...

Faster.

Done.

Bishop gazes at the screen with might be the android equivalent of postcoital satisfaction, eyes bright. The screen displays a message:

"OVERLOAD OPTION RESET"
 

He beings to reprogram the overload options.

INT. RESIDENTAL (MARRIED CREW QUARTERS)

A maze of walls, doors (most of them open). Lights are on, but the smoke is thicker. Coughing, choking, Jackson shoves past the others into a large communal kitchen. On an electric range, smoke pours from a pot. She grabs an extinguisher and blasts the pot's blackened contents, turns off the element. Smoke abates slightly.

The quarters have an eerie Marie Celeste quality: food and drink on the table, a pack of cigarettes beside an ashtray. Spence pockets the cigarettes as she passes; Hicks opens a large white thermos: steam. He sloshes coffee into a cup and drinks.

In the next room, a communal lounge, Spence leads Halliday to a couch and sinks down beside her, head in hands. Rosetti leans against an entertainment console, face blank, gingerly rubbing his split lip.

SPENCE

(head down)

It's funny, but I had to win a contest to go through this. A science fair in Omaha, first in biology for all of Nebraska. Monoclonal antibodies...

(she looks up at Rosetti)

Then I got into Cornell. Another contest. It wasn't easy, getting out here. We all must've wanted it so bad, a whole generation, or anyway the ones like me.

ROSETTI

(looks at her wearily)

Idealists.

SPENCE

Yeah. I guess so. Build a new world, find ways to live in it... But it wasn't supposed to be like this. And it might've worked. It almost did. Now look at it. Ending...

She sits up and hugs Halliday, whose eyes are shut tight.

SPENCE

(continuing)

What I want to know, mister, is why we had to bring you?

ROSETTI

(massages his temples, then looks at her levelly)

Funding.

SPENCE

Yeah. I guess you're right. You paid for it, I guess you get to fuck it up.

HICKS

(tossing her an apple)

C'mon, time to move. Get her up?

SPENCE

Sure.

She gets Halliday unsteadily to her feet.

They move out in a tight group, Jackson leading, Hicks taking up the rear, Spence biting resolutely into her apple.

ANGLE THROUGH A DOORWAY – REACTION SHOT

As Halliday's eyes fill with a new and deep horror.

ANGLE – THE ROOM

Is a preschool, a croche, scattered with toys, the walls tapes with children's paintings.

HALLIDAY

O God...

Spence and the Lab Tech hurry her on, out of the croche. Halliday snatches a ragdoll from a shelf as they pass...

INT. TUNNEL AWAY FROM FUSION PACKAGE

Bishop heads for the elevator shaft at his usual steady pace. Approaches the open doors cautiously. Listens. Nothing. He edges in. Empty. The circuit fire has died down; melted insulation still SPUTTERS. He looks up the shaft. A long climb. He can make out the bottom of the elevator. He reaches up, grabs a rung, sets his left boot on another, straightens up – and drives the jagged and of his broken knee joint through the side of his leg and the fabric of his fatigues in a gout of milky android blood. Hits the floor hard, the broken leg splayed at the hideous angle, the white fluid a widening pool.

Struggles to brace his shoulders against the wall. And reaches out to touch the ragged edge of artificial bone.

BISHOP

(a scientific observation)

Polycarbon...

INT. ENTRANCE TO FOOT OF MAINFRAME SERVICE SHAFT

Leaving residential. Hicks and Jackson chivvy the party through a low, floor-level service hatch.

INT. SERVICE SHAFT

Party's POV, looking up: ladders, platforms, catwalks, bundles of fiberoptic lines linking the components of Achorpoint's computer mainframe, drifting smoke. The bundles loops of fiberoptics have a faint, pearlescent glow.

Hicks, as usual is last up the ladder.

INT. LADDERS IN SERVICE SHAFT – VARIOUS ANGLES

The party, climbing. Halliday still has the ragdoll. Hicks up last.

INT. PLATFORM IN SERVICE SHAFT

The Marine guard from Ops emerges through a narrow opening, Spence and Halliday follow – and an Alien strikes from the shadows, ripping out his throat. Spence drives for his rifle as it skids across the platform. Screams from the ladder below. The gun slips through her fingers, over the edge – gone. Halliday cringes in a corner, cradling the ragdoll in her arms, as the Alien butchers the dead Marine, slashing the corpse to ribbons with its tail.

It HISSES, turns its head. Spence freezes.

INT. LADDER IN SERVICE SHAFT

Hicks is desperately trying to fight his way past the others, climbing over them –
 

INT. PLATFROM IN SERVICE SHAFT

Spence snatches a drum of cable from a service cart and hurls it at the Alien, distracting it from Halliday.

The beast springs toward Spence, bet she's already scrambling out along a fragile-looking catwalk that quakes with her passage. The Alien pursues her into the forest of cables with a hideous agility. Hicks clambers up through the opening, too late. Spence and the Alien are out of sight.

INT. FIBEROPTIC FOREST

Spence flattened against the mainframe, heart thumping, terrified. Takes a breath, look out between two glowing trunks of cable. Sees the Alien's back, fifteen feet away. She bites her lip and slips out, runs. It SCREECHES behind her. She blunders into another wall. A ladder. Up the rungs, fast.

Into a short narrow space lit by a single blue emergency light. No way out. She moves forward, hands sliding over a jumble of containers. SOUND of the beast swarming up the ladder. She's below the blue bulb now, looks down at her hand on a flat plastic case stenciled "COLONIAL TRANS AP-49 FLARE SIGNAL OXY-ATMOSPHERIC 20MM."  She tears at the catches –

The beast is almost on her.

She turns, bringing up the huge flare-pistol, and FIRES. The beast is blown backwards, off its feet, the igniting magnesium flare a white-hot chemical star burning in its guts as it flips back over the edge.

INT. PLATFORM IN SERVICE SHAFT

Hicks and the Lab Three see the burning Alien's fall as a weird pulse of light through the translucent cables.

LAB TECH

What – ?

HICKS

(yells)

Spence! Yo! Spence!

Hicks crosses the catwalk, followed by the Lab Tech.

Halliday stares after them over the head of her ragdoll.

INT. PLATFORM IN SERVICE SHAFT

The others have climbed up now. They watch Hicks, the Lab Tech, and Spence recross the catwalk. Spence has the flare-pistol around her neck on a lanyard.

JACKSON

(checks her watch)

Okay, people! Gotta move it now. Start climbing!

HICKS

Halliday!

She rushes to the spot where we last saw Halliday. The ragdoll lies on the deck. Spence grabs it up, flings it instantly away at the touch of slime.

SPENCE

(screaming)

No! No!

Hicks pulls an olive-drab aerosol unit fro his medical pack and drenches her hand with spray.

HICKS

Jackson's right. We gotta move.

Rosetti is already starting up the ladder.

INT. ELEVATOR SHAFT

Bishop, climbing. He has his web belt cinched tight around his left thigh. The splintered bone is out of sight; the leg of his fatigues, below the belt, is soaked with fluid. He uses his arms and right leg to climb, the left leg swaying free – grotesquely, in too many directions, like the limb of a broken puppet.

He shows signs of stress. The right knee might break at the next rung... He places it carefully, taking up most of his weight on his arms.

He checks his watch.

EXTREME CLOSEUP: "2140 HOURS"

BISHOP'S POV – UP THE SHAFT

It looks like forever.

INT. SERVICE SHAFT

Jackson uses a pistol-grip power-driver to unscrew a ventilator grill. Hicks shines his light into the opening, then crawls in. Jackson follows, then Rosetti...

INT. DUCT

Hands and knees, single file and barely room for that. Hicks has his flashlight clipped bayonet-style to his rifle. Jackson behind him, her cap reversed.

HICKS

How we doin'?

Jackson stops crawling; flips open her map, her features visible in the glow of the tiny screen.