Aliens

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

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

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

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

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 stenciled "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

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

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

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

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, signaling 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 targeting particle-beam phalanx. VWAP! Fry half a city with this puppy. We got tactical smart-missiles, phased-plasma pulse-rifles, RPG's. We got sonic electronic 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

The drop-ship lowers from the cargo-lock on a massive launch rig. The night side of Acheron yawns below... enigmatic.

INT. COCKPIT

Ferro and Spunkmeyer run rapidly through the switches.

FERRO

Initiate release sequencer on my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark!

EXT. SULACO – DROP-SHIP

Hydraulic WHINE. Clamps SLAM BACK. The ship drops.

INT. DROP-SHIP – APC

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

It screams down through the stratosphere, plunging into dark turbulence.

INT. COCKPIT

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

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

FERRO

Turning on final. Coming around to a seven-zero-niner. Terminal guidance locked in. Where's the damn beacon?

EXT. DROP-SHIP

It emerges from the low cloud ceiling. From the twilight haze ahead the distant colony LANDING BEACONS become visible.

INT. HOLD – APC

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 labeled 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-huh. One of thirty or so, all over the planet. They're completely automated. We manufacture them, by the way.

EXT. SHIP – AP STATION

The tiny ship circles the roaring tower. A metal volcano thundering like the engines on God's Lear jet.

INT. HOLD – APC

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

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 POV
 

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

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

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.