英语剧本《异形帝国》

FADE IN:



EXT.  MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE)



A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering

just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away.

The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert-

scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its

true shape and appearance indistinct.



The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then

pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles

and personnel.  Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted

scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the

armed infantry.  Everyone stares off at the same point on

the horizon.  Waiting.



The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it

moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a

second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards

behind the Army.  LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck

beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes

glued to the distant object.



The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked

local TV van, finds the object again in the distance,

zooms in, and waits, like everyone else.



Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box

CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS.



			CRAIS

	That was the scene in California's

	Mojave Desert three years ago today

	-- the historic first view of the

	Newcomer ship upon its dramatic

	arrival.  As with the assassination

	of John Kennedy, who among us does

	not remember exactly where he was

	that October nineteenth morning,

	when news first broke: that people

	have landed... from another star.



We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal...





INT.  A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT



The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar.



The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly

ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and

ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores.



			FEDORCHUK

	I remember where I was -- pissing

	off my balcony at the neighbor's

	dog!



Others laugh.



			ALTEREZ

		   (yells at Crais on TV)

	Get to the goddamn ball scores!



ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH

PROFESSOR comes up.  Her name and title appear across the

bottom of the screen.



			CAL-TECH PROFESSOR

	From the time mankind first gazed up

	at the stars there had been

	speculation about a visit by people

	from "out there."  How ironic that

	when that first contact was made,

	the two hundred and sixty thousand

	occupants aboard the craft were as

	surprised as we were about their

	arrival.  That they awakened from

	frozen hibernation to find their

	malfunctioning autopilot had landed

	them here by mistake.



The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again.



			CRAIS

	These "Newcomers," we soon learned,

	were a genetically-engineered race,

	adapted for hard labor in almost any

	environmental condition.  In effect,

	their ship was a slave ship...

	washed ashore on Earth with no way

	to get back to where they came

	from...



A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS

FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the

countertop.



Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside

a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN.



			FRESNO HOUSEWIFE

	When the Newcomers were first let

	out of the ship, they were

	quarantined in a camp not ten miles

	from the town here.  You can imagine

	how the people around here felt

	about that.  But once they were

	releases from the camp and we got a

	chance to know them, we saw what

	nice, quiet people they really are...



WIDER



revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white

busboy's uniform.  His back is to us as he picks up two

trays from the counter.  The bartender is dwarfed by this

Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern.

Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy.



			FEDORCHUK

	Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight?

	Workin' hard?



The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but

disturbingly alien.



			FEDORCHUK

	You got your green card, buddy?  You

	didn't leave home without it?



The cops at the bar crack up.  Henry looks at Fedorchuk --

his eyes carrying no malice... or pain.  He merely blinks.



				    CUT TO:



INT./ EXT.  SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT



An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY

very quickly.  We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d.

sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among

us now:



-- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables.



-- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of

books.



-- A city park where a number of alien families have

gathered to play some arcane alien game.



			SYKES

	Jeez... they call that gang-bang a

	game...?



-- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien.



-- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light.

Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes'

head... and alien hand.  Sykes jumps.  It's a NEWCOMER

DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own

language.  In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of

milk.  We know immediately what he wants.  Sykes rolls

down the window.



			SYKES

	Take a hike.



Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light

changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the

street.  Sykes grimaces at the smell.



			SYKES

	Why's it have to be sour milk that

	these guys get wasted on?  What the

	hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or

	Thunderbird for chrissakes?

		   (beat; disgusted)

	Slagtown.  Shit...



-- Aliens hanging around outside their homes.



-- Alien hookers plying their trade.



			SYKES

	Hope their plumbing's the same.



			TUGGLE

	It is.

		   (and Sykes gives him

		    a look)



-- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile.



-- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator

III".



-- An alien wig shop.



ANGLE



TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile

and HEAR:



			TUGGLE (O.S.)

	So you gonna go, or you not gonna

	go?





INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT



The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two

coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the

windshield.  A hand picks up one of the coffees and we

FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen

some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES.

Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE.

Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks.



			SYKES

	How can I go?



			TUGGLE

	Put on your wash-and-wear suit and

	your clip-on tie, have your landlady

	tie your shoes for you, and show up

	at the church.  Simple.

		   (beat)

	Me and Carol are going.



			SYKES

	What?



			TUGGLE

	Hey, look -- we've known Kristin

	since... since she was conceived in

	that cabin up in Big Bear.

	Remember?  You and Edie banged the

	wall so hard, me and Carol were

	picking plaster out of our hair for

	a week...



			SYKES

	Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see

	Kristin get married, okay?  But--



			TUGGLE

	But you're bummed because your ex

	and her new husband are paying for

	the whole thing.



			SYKES

	Shit, if Kristin had to get married

	where I could afford it, we'd be

	holding the reception at Buddy's

	Burgers.



Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off

mood.  Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop

radar.



			SYKES

	Uh-oh... Check it out.



THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS

in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom-

and-pop mini-mart on the corner.  One of them wears dark

glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a

black vinyl raincoat.



			SYKES

	Does that look at all suspicious to

	you?



			TUGGLE

	Whatever gave you that idea?





EXT.  STREET - NIGHT



Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb

among other parked cars.





INT.  SEDAN - NIGHT



Sykes is already pulling his gun.  Tuggle quickly reaches

for the radio in the glovebox.



			TUGGLE

	This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a

	possible two-eleven in progress at

	Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court

	and Alvarado.  Requesting backup.



Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing

out.



			SYKES

	Let's do it, partner.



Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio

Dispatcher confirms the call.





EXT.  STREET - NIGHT



The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked

cars across the street from the mini-mart.  Through the

store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the

counter.  His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat

and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it

right at him.  The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun

and covers the door.



Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside.



			SYKES

	You got your vest?



			TUGGLE

	Of course.  Right in the trunk of

	the car.



			SYKES

	Yeah, that's comforting.  Mine, too.



Through the store window the robbery continues in

pantomime.  Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun,

yelling orders in the alien language.  The Proprietor is

quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register.

The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands

in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear.  The

Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired.



Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the

street from the store entrance.



			TUGGLE

	Watch the driver.  I'm going for a

	better angle on the door.



			SYKES

	I got him.  Don't get pinned.



Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater-

corner across the intersection.



Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag

of cash, shove it in his coat pocket.  Bills fall out, but

he doesn't care.  Then, without warning, Kipling whips up

the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's

chest!  The Proprietor slams back against the shelves,

slides to the floor.  Kipling leans over the counter and

FIRES another round into the Proprietor.



			SYKES

		   (under his breath)

	Aw, shit.



Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the

shots.



The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a

few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots

Tuggle.  He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine

pistol on the seat next to him.





INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT



Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk.  They

spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire --

BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS.



A civilian car enters the intersection.  The engine is hit

by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the

intersection, steam rising from the radiator.





EXT.  STREET - NIGHT



Tuggle dives behind a lamp post.



The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine

pistol to fire at Tuggle.  Sykes sees this and opens fire

at the Driver.  The Driver turns and fires at Sykes.

Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is

sprayed with bullets.



A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between

Sykes and the Driver.  Once the truck is past, Sykes is

standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready.  He

rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver.



Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the

shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien.



			SYKES

	Get outta there!



			TUGGLE

	I can't!  Do you mind!



			SYKES

	I'll cover you!  Get outta there!!



Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway

car, firing toward the store as he goes.



Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover.



Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp

post and runs to the stalled civilian car.  He slides

across the hood and drops behind the car for cover.

Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car

window.  His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver

who is still inside the car.



			OLD MAN

	Can I get out now?



			TUGGLE

	Move it!



Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in

the store.  As he considers his next move--



Tuggle fires at the two aliens.  They return fire and he

slides down to safety behind the car.  Or so he thinks.

Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by

the shotgun blasts.  He flinches as another blast hits the

car.  He looks over.  There's a big exit hole in the

fender beside him.  THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR.

Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder.



Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS

and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of

the car.  He has nowhere left to go and--



-- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely

in the chest throwing him back onto the street.



Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of

nine years blown away.



Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his

shotgun CLICKS empty.





INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT



Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit

of the store.  The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands.

The two of them run out the back.





EXT.  STREET - NIGHT



Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body.  One glance is

enough.  Nobody ever looked deader.



			SYKES

	Aw shit, Tug, Jesus!  Goddamn it!



He stares, shocked and incredulous.  He can't find a way

to think or feel about this.  Then we see him going crazy

right before our eyes, the rage revving.  He takes off

toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching

in background.





INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT



Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken

glass, bangs through the exit.





EXT.  ALLEY - NIGHT



Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round

the corner at the far end of the alley.  He takes off,

quickly cranking up to full speed.





EXT.  BACK STREET - NIGHT



Sykes rounds the corner.  Doesn't see them anymore.  He

slows... moves along this street with some caution.  Lots

of shadows, lots of hiding places.  Sykes HEARS a NOISE,

looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge

billboard.  He cuts loose with the shotgun.  Sykes dives.

Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the

night.  Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the

crates.



Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now.  He drops it, swings

down off the fire escape, runs off.



Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him.





EXT.  TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT



Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street.

The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up

ahead.  Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open.





INT.  TUNNEL - NIGHT



The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves

through the mouth.  He tries to control his breathing so

he can hear.  The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing

along the asphalt.



Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS.  Rapid

footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING.  He can't tell from

which direction!  He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges

for him with an alien CRY.



It's the wired Raincoat alien.  Sykes gets his gun up just

in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times.  Raincoat

alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the

blasts.  Sykes approaches the body slowly.  With an

inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes

with outstretched arms.  Sykes jumps back, startled, and

FIRES twice more at the pale figure.  Raincoat goes down

and stays down.



Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment.  Then he HEARS

it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal.  Sykes

looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly

above!  Sykes goes down in a heap.  He's managed to hold

onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the

gun hand around.  Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming

the gun from Sykes' hand.  Sykes tries to get to his feet,

but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel.



A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background.



Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace.  As he

draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND

again.



SYKES' P.O.V.



Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look

at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist.  The

strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE.



ANGLE



The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching

SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings

onto the street heading this way.  Kipling sees this and

leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel.



ON SYKES



dazed, struggling to rise.  WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS

approaching.  Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused.



SYKES' P.O.V.



An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him.



ANGLE



Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his

weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien

face.  The alien, caught by surprise and off balance,

sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME.  Sykes is grabbed by a

human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again.



			HUMAN COP

	Whoa, whoa... hold it.  Take it easy.

		   (to alien on the

		    ground)

	You okay?



Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus.  He looks at

the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet

away.  The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON.



			JETSON

	I am all right.



He gets up.  A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose.



			HUMAN COP

	I better call in.



He moves off.  Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat

alien's body.  Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might

retaliate in some way.  But Jetson simply steps past him

to kneel beside the dead alien.  He checks for a pulse on

the underside of the dead alien's upper arm.  Nothing.

Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain.  He

struggles to rise.  Jetson gets an arm around him to help

him up.



			JETSON

	Your hand will require attention.



Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip.



			SYKES

	Get the hell away from me!  I don't

	need your goddamn help.



He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself

against the tunnel wall.  Sykes leans there, the picture

of impotent rage and frustration.  Jetson looks at him,

with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit

when trying to understand human nature.





EXT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT



OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over

his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the

Coroner's wagon.



WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching.  The

Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD

black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of

them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some

alien).  He moves into:





INT.  MINI-MART - NIGHT



The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs

out of the wall, photographing everything.  Several

UNIFORMED COPS mill around.  Sykes moves aimlessly around

the room like a stranger at a party.



The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange

rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from

her lips.  A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get

her away from the body, but can't get her to budge.



MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the

Raincoat alien dropped here.  NATUZZI, a mean-looking

veteran uniform cop is with him.



			NATUZZI

	Looks like a standard combat pump-

	action.



			MINKLER

	It is.



			NATUZZI

	So what punched holes clear through

	that car out there?



Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box.

Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells.



			MINKLER

	BRI Sabot slugs.  These puppies are

	nasty.  Two plastic sabots fall away

	in flight leaving a fifty-caliber

	slug going two thousand feet per

	second.  Tug might as well've been

	hiding behind a rosebush.



Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him.

He looks.  It's Sykes.



			NATUZZI

	Pretty heavy artillery for knocking

	over a liquor store.



A new voice enters the conversation.



			JETSON (O.S.)

	An identical round was used in the

	shooting of a Newcomer named

	Hubley, two days ago.



Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to

see the voice is Jetson's.



			MINKLER

	Yeah?  So why the extra fire power?



			JETSON

	Perhaps because even the larger

	caliber handguns aren't always

	effective against my people.



			SYKES

		   (mulls this, then)

	You saying there's some connection

	to this other homicide?



Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to

the Proprietor's Wife steps up.



			FEMALE COP

	Hey, give me a hand with this woman,

	will ya Jetson?  We've got to get

	her to Division for her statement

	and she won't budge.



			JETSON

		   (to Sykes)

	Excuse me.



And he moves off with his partner.  Sykes calls after him,

but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't

turn.



			SYKES

	So, you think there's a connection,

	or what?  Hey!



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT



The slug-mobile pulls up.  A drained Sykes moves up the

walk to his front door.





INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT



Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place

decorated with negative taste.  It's obviously the maid's

decade off.



By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering

machine on his way into the kitchen.  The tape rewinds.

He opens the fridge.  Not much here.  Left-over take-out

pizza carton.  Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons.

Left-over take-out burger wrappers.



The answering machine message begins -- he glances over

his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE.  During the

following, he reaches the fridge.  Brings out a milk

carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter.  Reaches

in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly.  Then

searches for a semi-clean glass.



			KRISTIN'S VOICE

		   (bouncy, bride-to-be

		    happy)

	Hi, Daddy, it's me.  I'm over at

	Danny's parents' house... talking

	about Sunday.  I thought maybe you'd

	be home by now.  Anyway, uh, nothing

	really.  I just wanted to call and

	say I love you.  I love you, Daddy.

		   (she giggles)

	Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that.

	Knowing you, you'll probably pull

	this tape out of your machine and

	save it -- in that drawer where you

	keep every card I ever gave you, and

	all of my old baby teeth... gross!

	Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape

	-- but I do love you, and I'll talk

	to you before Sunday.

		   (beat)

	Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met

	Danny last week.

		   (Sykes stiffens)

	Danny thought Tug was the greatest

	-- but, then, who doesn't?  Anyway,

	love you, talk to you soon.  'Bye.



The machine BEEPS and HISSES.  Sykes take the glass and

the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room,

switching off the answering machine as he goes.



Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of

the machine and tosses it into a drawer.



				    FADE TO:



INT.  DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY



Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee.  He's slept about

four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with

Hagler.  He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk.



			SYKES

	So what've you got on Tuggle's

	killers?



			FEDORCHUK

	Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than

	ten hours.  Me and Alterez are on

	it, okay?



			SYKES

	You don't have squat.



			FEDORCHUK

	You ever try to make a case in

	Slagtown?  The list of Newcomer

	informants is about as long as the

	list of Mexican war heroes...



			ALTEREZ

	Up yours.



			FEDORCHUK

	... Nobody talks to nobody down

	there.  Half of them don't speak

	English and the other half only when

	it suits them.  It's gonna take some

	time.



			SYKES

	Yeah, I know it's gonna take time.

	Like until the Ice Capades opens in

	Hell, with you two on it.



Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN

WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the

squad room.



			WARNER

	Nobody wanders off!  I got an

	announcement.  Get your asses back

	in here.



Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into

the room.  Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner

stands holding a sheet of paper.



			WARNER

	I'll make this short.  This is a

	directive from Chief Evaner, who is

	acting on orders from the Mayor, who

	is under mandate from the Federal

	Bureau of Newcomer Relations.  As of

	nine o'clock this morning, one

	Newcomer uniform officer has been

	promoted to the rank of Detective,

	third grade.



The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This

is bullshit!", etc.



			WARNER

	And we've got him, gentleman.

		   (more groans)

	Volunteers for duty with the new

	detective should see me in my

	office... otherwise I will choose a

	volunteer myself.  That is all.



He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of

continued grumbling from the detectives.  Sykes, standing

to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass-

walled office.  Waiting inside are a balding man and an

alien in a grey suit.  Sykes reacts.  The alien in the

suit is Jetson.



The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers

something.



			FEDORCHUK

	Unbelievable bullshit.



			ALTEREZ

	How long has this Slag been on the

	force?  A year, max -- right?



			DETECTIVE

	I don't know about the rest of you,

	but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit

	still for this.  I'm calling the

	union, pronto.



Others grumble.  "Yeah!".  Meanwhile, Sykes has decided

something.  He heads toward Warner's office.  Fedorchuk

sees this.



			FEDORCHUK

	Where the hell is he going?





INT.  WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY



Sykes KNOCKS and enters.



			WARNER

	Yeah, Sykes?



			SYKES

	Captain.  I'd like to volunteer for

	duty with the new detective.



Warner is surprised.  He never expected Sykes.



			WARNER

	... All right.  Detective Sergeant

	Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson.



			JETSON

	We have met.



Warner looks up, clocking this.  He looks at Sykes,

starting to smell something fishy.



The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands.



			GOLDRUP

	Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office.

	Congratulations, gentlemen.



Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to.



			WARNER

		   (to Sykes)

	You are to have nothing to do with

	the investigation into Bill Tuggle's

	death.  You know that.  Leave that

	for Fedorchuk.



			SYKES

		   (nodding)

	Departmental policy.



			WARNER

		   (to Jetson)

	You?



			JETSON

	Yes, sir.



			WARNER

	Good.



			SYKES

	There's another case I'd like to

	take.  A homicide -- a Newcomer

	named Hubley.



Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something.

Sykes avoids his look.



			WARNER

	Granger and Pitts are already on it.



			SYKES

	Granger and Pitts have one hell of a

	caseload... and I would have thought

	with Jetson here being the first

	Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's

	body being found over in the

	Newcomer community...



			WARNER

	Don't tell me what to think.



			GOLDRUP

	He's got a point.  That's the sort

	of thing we should be doing with

	this early advancement program...



Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally

sighs with resignation.  Sykes grins.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY



The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit.  Next

to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks

like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser.  They move past all

the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during:



			SYKES

	... and we work my hours.  I'll do

	the driving, you do the paperwork.

	You gotta learn it so you might as

	well do it all.



			JETSON

		   (after a moment)

	Sergeant... I'd like to thank you

	for what you're doing.



			SYKES

	What's that?

		   (then realizing)

	Look, Jetson.  Get this straight in

	your head.  We're not pals, we're

	not married, and we ain't gonna take

	long moonlight walks together...

	We're just partners.  And don't call

	me Sergeant.  Call me Sykes... or

	Matt if you have to.



			JETSON

	I am George.



Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half

steps to be exact.  Then it hits Sykes.  He seizes up

cold.



			SYKES

	Wait a minute.  George?  George

	Jetson?



Jetson nods... he's used to this.

Sykes cracks up.



			SYKES

		   (between laughs)

	Man, somebody really hung one on

	you!  I've heard some good ones for

	you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley

	Davidson.  I guess the people at

	immigration got a little punchy

	after a while, coming up with names

	for a quarter of a million of you.

	You weren't at the back of the line,

	were you, George?



			JETSON

	My true name is Ss'tangya

	T'ssorentsa'.



			SYKES

	Gesundheit.  You don't mind if I

	stick to George, do you?





EXT.  POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY



They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile.



			SYKES

	Anyway, what's it matter to you if

	we think it's funny, right?  Whatta

	you care?



			JETSON

	That is exactly so.

		   (completely deadpan)

	It is like your name... Sykes.  I'm

	sure it doesn't bother you at all

	that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss",

	two words in my language which mean

	"excrement" and "cranium".



Sykes looks at him, perplexed.



			JETSON

	"Shit... head".



Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing

there, the smirk dropping from his face.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DAY



They're cruising along in downtown traffic.  Sykes drives.

Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat.



			SYKES

	Let's talk Hubley.



			JETSON

		   (refers to a folder

		    he holds)

	His body was discovered three days

	ago, in an alley off of Central

	Avenue, near downtown.



			SYKES

	With two BRI Sabot slugs in the

	chest.



			JETSON

		   (gently correcting

		    him)

	Through the chest.  Rupturing both

	the primary and secondary hearts.



			SYKES

		   (out the window)

	Nice signal, dickwad!



Jetson is momentarily thrown by this outburst from Sykes.

Then...



			JETSON

	He was employed at the Northwest

	Petroleum Refinery in Torrance.  He

	was manager of the Methane Facility.

	He was also a principle partner in a

	real estate venture to develop low-

	cost housing for Newcomers.



Sykes grimaces at the mention of "Newcomer housing".



			SYKES

	Terrific.  A real pillar of the

	community.

		   (beat)

	Was Hubley missing anything when

	they found him?  Was he ripped off?



			JETSON

		   (checks file)

	There was no wallet... but he was

	still wearing a watch and two rings.



			SYKES

	The guys at the mini-mart last night

	made a half-assed stab at the money

	in the till -- but I don't think

	that's what they were there for.  I

	think we got us a couple'a

	executions on our hands, George...



			JETSON

	The murder at the mini-mart is not

	our case.  The Captain said--



Sykes looks over at Jetson, pissed.



			SYKES

	Look, you want to fit in here,

	right?  You want to learn how to get

	along?



			JETSON

	Yes.



			SYKES

	Well, there's a thing about

	partners, about being somebody's

	partner.  You do for each other.

	And other people's rules don't mean

	shit.  It's the rules set up between

	the two of you, that's all that

	counts.  Understand?

		   (Jetson nods)

	Okay.  Well, my friend and partner

	was shot last night and I'm after

	the shitbag that did it.  As my

	partner, I'm asking you to respect

	me and help me find him.



Jetson considers this several moments, then--



			JETSON

	And as my partner, I ask you to

	respect me and my desire not to

	break with procedure.



Sykes stares at him, exasperated.  Without warning, he

slams the car to a stop right in the middle of heavy

traffic, puts it in "Park." Jetson, who is already a

little too close to the dashboard, bangs up against it.

HORNS instantly go crazy behind them.



			JETSON

	What is wrong?



			SYKES

		   (very calm)

	Nothing's wrong.  I just want to get

	something straight.  You agree that

	there's a good chance these two

	shootings are somehow related,

	right?



YELLING joins the HORNS outside.  Jetson is visibly

unsettled by the chaos.



			JETSON

	Well... yes, quite possibly.



			SYKES

	Possibly.  Good.  Well, would you be

	willing to accept the theory,

	George, that... possibly... by

	examining the evidence from one case

	we might shed some small ray of

	light on the other?  Does that sound

	unreasonable to you?



			JETSON

	Yes... no, it is not unreasonable.

	Although I--



			SYKES

	Great.

		   (a relieved sigh)

	Well, I'm sure glad that's settled,

	aren't you?



And with that he puts the car in gear and pulls rapidly

out.



			SYKES

	I think we're really starting to

	click now, George -- hmmm?



Jetson doesn't know what to think -- he just holds on.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  HALLWAY - L.A. COUNTY MORGUE - DAY



WINTER, a deputy Medical Examiner (human), is leading

Sykes and Jetson along the hall.  He reads on the fly from

a case file in his hand.



			WINTER

	You know I've been over all this

	with Fedorchuk and Alterez this

	morning...



			SYKES

	Come on.  You got nothin' better to

	do, cushy county job like yours.





INT.  AUTOPSY ROOM - DAY



They enter briskly through a swinging door.  They move

among the tables (some occupied, some not) during:



			WINTER

	Yeah, right.  Don't push your luck.

	Anyway, according to the sheet, the

	guy you nailed outside by the car--



			SYKES

	The human?



			WINTER

	Yeah... he was one Martin Helder.

	White male, twenty-seven.  Let's

	see... wrap sheet shows one armed

	robbery conviction, a couple for

	sale of a controlled substance.

	Oh yeah, and he was wired on coke

	when you stopped his clock.



They have reached a table holding a covered body.  Winter

unceremoniously throws back the cover.  There lies the

pale naked body of the Raincoat alien.



			JETSON

	Have you identified this one?



			WINTER

	So far he's a John Doe.  Or a Sam

	Slag, if you like.



Jetson smiles slightly out of politeness.



			WINTER

	No I.D. on him and -- well, you

	know, no fingerprints -- so it could

	be tough.  Your buddies this morning

	went through the mug book but

	couldn't make a facial match.



			SYKES

	Fedorchuk couldn't find his ass with

	his hands in his back pockets.



Jetson nonchalantly looks over the alien body while Winter

and Sykes continue talking off to one side.



			WINTER

		   (referring to

		    Raincoat alien)

	You took this gut out, too, didn't

	you?



			SYKES

	Yeah.



			WINTER

	Lucky for you, you got him in both

	of his... well, what we loosely

	refer to as... hearts.



			SYKES

	Lucky nothing.  I had to empty my

	damn gun into him.



			WINTER

	That's the way these people are.

	You don't hit both pumps you just

	piss them off.



During this, Jetson has turned the dead alien's hand over

-- sees something that brings a frown of curiosity to his

face.  He leans closer, examining the palm carefully.

Then he peels back the alien's upper lip.



Jetson frowns anew, with concern this time.  He looks

around, spots a Newcomer lab assistant nearby -- BENTNER.

Jetson motions him over.  Jetson begins questioning him

using the alien language.  Sykes and Winter nearby, remain

oblivious.



			WINTER

	Oh, here's an extra headshot if you

	need one.

		   (hands Sykes a

		    polariod of dead

		    alien's face)

	We're just about to start cutting

	in.  You're welcome to stick around

	if you want.  It's really

	fascinating stuff.



			SYKES

	Yeah, I'll bet.



Sykes looks over, now noticing Jetson and Bentner in

earnest conversation.  He only catches snatches of the

alien language.  Bentner appears very unsettled by what

Jetson is telling him.  In response to Jetson's final

statement, Bentner nods -- as if agreeing to do something

Jetson has requested.  Sykes goes over to Jetson.



			SYKES

	What's this?  What's going on?



			JETSON

	Nothing.



			SYKES

		   (really suspicious

		    now)

	Nothing?



			JETSON

		   (looking away)

	Shouldn't we examine their personal

	effects?



Jetson moves off, leaving Sykes there wondering.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  PROPERTY ROOM - COUNTY MORGUE - DAY



Two large plastic packets are dumped of their contents

onto a formica counter.  Sykes looks through the dead

alien's effects while Jetson goes through the human's.

ORTIZ, the college girl working the property counter, sits

nearby doing homework.



Jetson holds up a little foil packet with a puzzled frown.



			JETSON

	What is this?



			SYKES

		   (looks, then)

	A rubber.  A condom.  You know...

	Coney Island whitefish?

		   (Jetson doesn't know

		    what one is)

	Men, human men, put them on their,

	uh -- penises -- to protect against

	having babies.

		   (Jetson still doesn't

		    get it; Sykes turns

		    to Ortiz)

	You need this for anything?



			ORTIZ

	Nope, got my own.  Anything you guys

	don't use gets stuffed away in

	storage.



Sykes tears open the packet, unrolls the condom, dangles

it before Jetson.



			SYKES

	Get the picture?



			JETSON

		   (frowning)

	And that fits?



			SYKES

	Well... Yeah, it's rubber.  It

	stretches.



			JETSON

	And still it fits?



Sykes looks at Jetson's serious expression.  He tosses the

condom and packet back into the counter and continues

searching.  A beat, then he can't stop himself -- he

steals a glance at Jetson's crotch.



Still searching, Sykes picks up one of the dead alien's

well-worn heavy work boots.  He grimaces... the sides and

soles are painted with a viscous black substance.  He very

tentatively sniffs it... and is grateful that it's not

what he thought it might be.



			SYKES

	What is this stuff?



Sykes gets some on his hands, doesn't know where to wipe

it.  Jetson glances over.



			JETSON

	It is a resin.



Sykes looks at him... surprised that he knows.



			JETSON

		   (continuing)

	Newcomers working near methane

	gasses at oil refineries must paint

	it on their boots to protect against

	sparks.



			SYKES

	How the hell do you know that?



			JETSON

	A large number of my people were

	hired by refineries because the

	methane fumes are not harmful to us.

	My spouse's brother is one.



			SYKES

	So the Slag they're cutting into

	upstairs worked at a refinery just

	like Hubley worked at a refinery.

		   (beat)

	I'd say that "possible" connection

	between the two cases just got a

	hell of a lot more possible.

		   (beat)

	Okay, next step -- I gotta go talk

	to the wife of the Slag store owner

	blown away last night.



			JETSON

	I believe I should interview the

	widow alone.



			SYKES

	Why the hell--?!

		   (realizes it's

		    because of his lack

		    of "bedside manner")

	Great, fine.  You talk to the wife.



				    CUT TO:



INT./ EXT.  MINI-MART - LATE AFTERNOON



The shattered windows have been covered with plywood.

Through the open doorway we see Jetson talking to the

Proprietor's Wife.  She studies a photo Jetson shows her,

nods her head, speaking rapidly in the alien language.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  REFINERY - LATE AFTERNOON



Sykes drives along beside the mammoth, steaming network of

buildings and pipes that make up the refinery.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  REFINERY - LATE AFTERNOON



Through the loud and smoky refinery we see Sykes walking

with the newly promoted Methane Section manager, O'NEAL,

in tie and shirtsleeves.  The workmen around them are both

human and Newcomer.



			O'NEAL

		   (yelling over the

		    roar)

	Mr. Hubley was an all right guy --

	and a damn good manager.  The men

	liked him.  I'm really gonna have to

	scramble to fill his shoes.



			SYKES

	Well, one of the men didn't like him

	so much...



They stop and Sykes hands O'Neal the polariod photo of

Raincoat alien.  They have stopped near the heavy

refrigeration-type door leading to the "METHANE SECTION".



Newcomer workers move in and out through the door during:



			O'NEAL

		   (looking at photo)

	You think this is the guy who did

	it?



			SYKES

	We think he could'a been involved,

	yeah.  You know him?



			O'NEAL

	To be honest, it's hard to say.  I

	hate to admit it but -- they all

	still kinda look alike to me.



			SYKES

		   (impatient)

	Who else can I ask around here?



			O'NEAL

		   (looking at photo

		    again)

	Wait.  You know who it looks like?

	Yeah.  Anderson.  Uh... James

	Anderson.  He isn't in today.  He

	took the afternoon off.



			SYKES

	I think you're gonna find he's taken

	the rest of his life off.



O'Neal reacts.  Sykes notices the door to the Methane

Section.



			SYKES

	That where Anderson worked?



			O'NEAL

	Yes it is.

		   (some alien workers

		    come through the

		    door)

	Thirty-five percent pure Methane gas

	in there.  I don't know how these

	fellas do it.



Sykes watches two more alien workers pass back through the

door.  O'Neal watches Sykes' expression for signs of

suspicion.



				    CUT TO:



HIGH ANGLE SHOT - SYKES AND O'NEAL



We see Sykes hand O'Neal a card, then move off.  O'Neal

watches him briefly, then crosses to some steps and starts

up this way.

We PAN with him as he enters a door here on the second

level.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  METHANE SECTION CONTROL ROOM - LATE AFTERNOON



O'Neal enters, moves to a telephone, begins to dial.

Beyond is a glass wall overlooking the Methane Section.



				    CUT TO:



ANGLE - BELOW



CAMERA TRACKS through the Methane Section... past the

alien workers in lab whites... past all the arcane

equipment and chemical procedures... ending in an EXTREME

CLOSE UP of a small cylindrical dispenser as it fills

slowly with a pale blue, viscous liquid.



				    CUT TO:



INT./ EXT.  SLUG-MOBILE - JETSON'S STREET - DUSK



We're SHOOTING THROUGH the slug-mobile window as Sykes

pulls up in front of Jetson's modest but immaculately

maintained home on the outskirts of Slagtown.  Jetson's

WIFE, an attractive alien woman, stands watering the lawn

with a garden hose.  Jetson's son, age six, rides his

bicycle along the walkway.  Jetson, dressed in his suit

for work, crouches near the walkway, playing with his son.



Sykes pulls the car toward the curb, rolls his eyes.



			SYKES

	Jesus.  Welcome back Ozzie and

	Harriet...



He HONKS the horn.  Jetson looks up, then moves to his

wife and kisses her goodbye.  Moves to his son, kisses him

on the top of his head.



Sykes watches all this... and as he does, slowly his

derisive expression softens.  As corny as this tableau may

be, there's something very appealing about the innocence

of it... even to an unrepentant cynic like Sykes.



Jetson starts to climb into the car, and we--



				    CUT TO:



INT.  RESTROOM - BILTMORE HOTEL - NIGHT



CLOSE on an alien hand as it removes one of the drug

dispensers from a tuxedo pocket.  As the hand brings the

dispenser toward the face, we immediately recognize the

exotic silver bracelet worn by Kipling the night before.

It makes that distinctive CLINKING NOISE.  We PAN with the

hand to reveal Kipling's face... sans bandana and

sunglasses now.  He wears a black tuxedo.  He lets a small

dab of the blue gel curl from the dispenser onto his

tongue.  He swallows... and reacts as the rush from the

drug hits him.



The door to the men's room bangs open and a MIDDLE AGED

POLITICO enters, obviously drunk.



Kipling quickly pockets the dispenser, moves past the

Politico to the exit...



				    CUT TO:



INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT



Sykes drives, heading for the Biltmore Hotel.



			JETSON

	Mrs. Porter is not taking her

	husband's death well.



			SYKES

		   (impatient)

	Did you learn anything?



			JETSON

	A week ago two men came to see her

	husband.  After they left, he was

	very frightened.  She identified one

	of the men from a photo I showed

	her.  It was Hubley.



			SYKES

	Aw-right.  What about the other guy?



			JETSON

	She didn't know him.  But she said

	her son might.



			SYKES

	Did you talk to him?



			JETSON

	He has not been home since that day.

	But she told me where to find him.



Sykes nods.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  MAIN BALLROOM - BILTMORE HOTEL - NIGHT



The men are in tuxedos, the women in evening gowns.  Only

two of three Newcomers faces present.  Kipling threads his

way among the tables as the MAYOR, at the speaker's

platform, addresses the assembly.



			MAYOR

	... Our guest speaker tonight has

	done so much in his community and

	for his community in such a short

	period of time.  And I must say, as

	the founder of the first Newcomer

	owned and operated corporation in

	Southern California, he certainly

	has come quite far in the last few

	years.  Granted, not as far as he

	came in the years before reaching

	Los Angeles.



There is laughter from the VIPs.  Kipling slides into a

seat at one of the front tables.  He leans over and

whispers something into the ear of the person seated to

his right.  We see this CLOSE UP, and don't see who he is

whispering to yet.  Whoever it is, nods.



			MAYOR

		   (continuing)

	As Mayor of this city, it gives me

	great pleasure to introduce someone

	who has so readily made our city

	his home... and all of us who live

	here, his friends.  Ladies and

	gentlemen, William Harcourt.



The VIPs applaud as the spotlight sweeps over to a front

table.  At first it hits Kipling, then it adjusts to

capture WILLIAM HARCOURT, seated to Kipling's right.

Harcourt is an exemplar of the successful Newcomer

entrepreneur... handsome, charming, with cool blue eyes

that glint with his piercing intellect.  He rises, smiling

warmly, steps past his striking ALIEN DATE seated to his

right, to make his way to the podium.  He shields his eyes

somewhat from the bright spotlight.



Once behind the podium, he slips his notes from a breast

pocket as the applause ebbs.



			HARCOURT

	Thank you all for that very warm

	reception.

		   (pauses, smiles)

	I'm particularly grateful because I

	actually had the gall to write that

	in my notes: "Thank you all for that

	very warm reception".  Imagine how

	embarrassed I would've been if it

	hadn't have been such a warm

	reception.



The VIPs laugh.  He's won them over instantly with his

charm and candor.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  BILTMORE HOTEL - FOYER - NIGHT



Sykes, followed by a reluctant Jetson, bears down on

Harcourt, who is exiting the hotel with his Date, and

Kipling.  We see Kipling recognize Sykes from their fight

two nights before... but because Kipling looks so

different, Sykes doesn't recognize him outright.  Still,

during this, Sykes senses something, though he's not sure

what.



			SYKES

	William Harcourt?



			HARCOURT

	Yes...



			SYKES

	I'm Sergeant Sykes, and this is

	Detective Jetson, Los Angeles Police

	Department.



			HARCOURT

		   (nodding greeting)

	Sergeant... Detective.  I wasn't

	aware there were any Newcomers at

	the rank of Detective yet.



			JETSON

	I am the first.



			HARCOURT

	Congratulations.  This is my

	administrative assistant, Rudyard

	Kipling.



			SYKES

		   (throw away)

	Rudyard Kipling?  No shit?

		   (to Harcourt)

	Listen, we just need a minute of

	your time...



			JETSON

	We'd like to ask you about a

	business associate of your, Warren

	Hubley.



			HARCOURT

	Yes, I heard about poor Warren.

	Tragic.



			SYKES

	You were partners with him on some

	Slag -- uh, Newcomer real estate

	thing.



			HARCOURT

	That's right.  He and I, along with

	seven or eight others.  Listen,

	gentlemen, I will be happy to assist

	you in any way I can --

	unfortunately, at the moment, I'm

	overdue at another function.



Suddenly there's a voice from O.S.:



			MAYOR (O.S.)

	William...



Harcourt turns as the Mayor and his WIFE step up.



			HARCOURT

	Mr. Mayor...



			MAYOR

	William, I was wondering if you

	wouldn't rather ride with Luisa and

	me.  Two limousines trying to make

	it across town in all this traffic,

	we're bound to be later than we

	already are.



			HARCOURT

	Excellent idea.  Ray, I wonder if

	you know two of your police

	officers... Detective Jetson and

	Sykes.



			MAYOR

		   (shaking their hands,

		    dismissively)

	A pleasure.

		   (to Harcourt)

	We really should be going.



The wind is knocked from Sykes' sails by the presence of

the Mayor with a very impatient expression.  Harcourt

smiles.



			HARCOURT

		   (continuing)

	Please feel free to call my office

	Monday morning for an appointment.

		   (to Jetson)

	Congratulations again on your

	promotion, Detective.  Remember...

	you're out there setting an example

	in our community.  I'll be keeping

	an eye on you.



Harcourt is smiling as he says this last, but his eyes are

penetrating... telegraphing a subliminal warning.

Harcourt and entourage move off... leaving Sykes steaming.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  BILTMORE HOTEL - HARCOURT AND KIPLING - NIGHT



Walking behind the others.  They speak in very low voices;

Harcourt continuing to nod and smile to other passing VIPs

during:



			KIPLING

	That cop, the human, he was the one

	who killed Anderson and the driver.



			HARCOURT

	This is becoming a serious breach of

	security.



			KIPLING

	He didn't recognize me.



			HARCOURT

	It is his new partner that I'm

	worried about.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  POLICE FIRING RANGE - FRONT DESK - NIGHT



MAFFET, the stocky retired cop behind the counter, hands

Jetson a bag of reloads and some silhouette targets.

Sykes nods to Jetson, motioning him toward the firing

line.



			SYKES

	Go on ahead.  I'll be right in.

		   (to Maffet, low)

	What'd you dig up for me?



Maffet slides open a drawer, takes out a paper bag

containing a massive pistol with an enormous bore.  By

his manner this deal is definitely not kosher.  Sykes

hefts the weapon.



			MAFFET

	You said you wanted the biggest

	thing I could find... Well, this is

	it.



			SYKES

	What is it?



			MAFFET

	Casull .454 Magnum.  You're talking

	twice the impact energy of .44

	Magnum hot loads.



			SYKES

		   (flips open cylinder)

	Only holds five.



			MAFFET

	Yeah, the shells are too big for six

	in an cylinder.  Hell, Matt, you

	don't need but one.



			SYKES

		   (sighting)

	No... two.





EXT.  SHOOTING RANGE - FIRING LINE - NIGHT



Jetson, looking bizarre in his ear-protectors, is taking

careful aim with his .38 as Sykes walks up.  Jetson slips

the protectors down.



			SYKES

	Well, let's see what you got,

	Cochise.  Gimme six, rapid fire.



Jetson, a little nervous at this command performance,

turns, sets, and FIRES at the silhouette target.  It's a

large, sloppy grouping.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	How long you been shooting?  That's

	pitiful.  Whattya gonna do if

	somebody draws down on you, wave

	your scores on the written exam at

	'em?



Sykes starts loading the thumb-sized bullets into the

Casull.



			JETSON

	Why did you do it?



			SYKES

	Why'd I do what?



			JETSON

	Agree to work with me?  You don't

	like me... you don't like any of us.

	You have nothing but contempt for

	us.  And yet you become an outcast

	from your club of detectives by

	making me your partner...



			SYKES

	My partner is dead!  Because one of

	you bastards killed him -- then

	disappeared into a rathole down in

	Slagtown, where he's home and dry,

	'cause nobody sees nothing, nobody

	says nothing...



Sykes grabs a bullet-proof vest from nearby, slaps it onto

the hanging target form.  He hits the switch, running the

target down to the end of the lane.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	But he didn't figure on you, George.

	You're going to get me through that

	wall of silence.  You're going to

	make them talk to me.  You're going

	to help me find that Slag son-of-a-

	bitch.  Comprendo?  And if Fedorchuk

	and the boys in the bullpen don't

	like it, screw them... and if the

	Captain doesn't like it, screw

	him... and if all the Slags down in

	Slagtown don't like it... well screw

	them too!



Sykes raises the Casull, fires.  KA-BOOM!!!  The shell

rockets clean through the bullet-proof vest on the target

form.  The recoil slams Sykes back, jerks his arm up.  KA-

BOOM!!!  again, and another hole is drilled through the

vest.  Other shooters look over.  Sykes sets the gun

down... sees his hand is bleeding.  Jetson absorbs all

this, as we--



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  "X" BAR - NIGHT



A violet neon "X" FILLS FRAME, flashing hypnotically.

It's a bar catering to rough-trade Newcomer clientele.

Several ALIEN MEN, brute laborer-types, lounge around out

front.  They glare with antagonism as Sykes and Jetson

climb out of their car.



			SYKES

		   (to Jetson)

	Okay, just stay back and do what I

	do.  Watch and learn, watch and

	learn...





INT.  "X" BAR - NIGHT



Sykes and Jetson walk into the almost total blackness of

this all-Newcomer place.



A few near-infrared indigo lamps dot the blackness.



			SYKES

	I can't see dick in here.



We can dimly make out booths along one wall, some tables,

and the bar.  There are maybe twenty figures seated or

standing in the darkness.  The room falls silent in a wave

as Sykes' presence becomes noticed.



Sykes saunters forward, commanding the space with his

unhurried movements.



			SYKES

		   (calling into the

		    dark silence)

	Which one'a you Slags is Porter?



			VOICE

		   (from the back of

		    the bar)

	Who wants to know?



Sykes squints into the darkness, then--



			SYKES

		   (aside to Jetson)

	Who said that?



			JETSON

		   (tilts his head to

		    indicate)

	At the end of the bar.



Sykes nods, starts in that direction.



			SYKES

	My name is Sykes.  I'm--



			ALIEN VOICE

	Ss'ai k'ss?



The whole place roars with LAUGHTER.  Too late Sykes

remembers what his name sounds like to them.  He continues

down the bar and a figure in one of the booths sticks his

leg out and trips Sykes with his size 16 work boot.  Sykes

stumbles, then recovers and pivots on the offender.  Hoots

and derisive LAUGHTER.  He sees only shadows.



			OFFENDER

		   (merely a voice in

		    the dark)

	Careful, ss'loka', you might hurt

	yourself.



More laughter.  Sykes gives the darkness where the

offender sits a hard stare, then turns and shoulders his

way to the end of the bar.  Jetson follows.  Sykes stops

behind a big Newcomer in greasy work clothes.



ANGLE



The punk Newcomer in the next seat is keeping his head

down, trying to be inconspicuous.



He glances over at the two cops... his expression shifting

to recognition as he spots Jetson.



BACK TO SCENE



Sykes speaks to the Big Newcomer's back.



			SYKES

	You Porter?



The Big Newcomer continues to sip his mug of sour milk.

Doesn't turn.  Sykes grabs him by the shoulder and turns

him around.  The alien grabs Sykes' hand off, rising to

his full height.  He and Sykes lock eyes.  Meanwhile.  the

punk Newcomer (PORTER) has started to slip away unnoticed.

Jetson spots him, reaches out with one arm, and grabs him

by the jacket.



			JETSON

	No, Matthew.  I believe this is the

	one you want.



He pulls Porter back into play.  Now Jetson sees Porter's

face... and he, too, reacts with recognition.



Sykes gives Jetson a sour look, releases the Big Newcomer,

and turns his malice on the punk Newcomer.



			SYKES

	Your name wouldn't happen to be

	Porter, would it?



			JETSON

	Uh, Matthew...



			SYKES

		   (over his shoulder

		    to Jetson)

	Back off, George.



			JETSON

	But I-- (know this man).



			SYKES

	I'll handle it.



Jetson backs off, letting him handle it.



			SYKES

		   (to Porter)

	Jesus, are the questions too tough

	for you already?  Let's try again--

		   (slowly)

	Is your name Porter?



			PORTER

	Ss'kya'ta'.



			SYKES

		   (to Jetson)

	What's that?



			JETSON

	Screw you.



			SYKES

		   (back to Porter)

	Screw me?  That can't be right.



			PORTER

	Ss'kya ta' ss'loka'.  Ss'trokya'

	ss'lato na'!



			JETSON

		   (to Sykes, low)

	You don't want to know.



			SYKES

	Tell me.



			JETSON

	Your mother mates out of season.



			SYKES

		   (to Porter)

	That's very colorful.  But see --

	now I've got a problem.  I don't

	seem to be getting much cooperation

	from you, Porter.  So I guess we're

	gonna have to take this little

	session down to my office, ya

	know?



And instantly Sykes whips out this flashlight, snaps on

the beam, and arcs it into the faces of the aliens around

him.  Jetson gets a blast of it, too.  The aliens are

momentarily blinded.



Sykes has Porter pinned to the bar, the flashlight in his

face, as he starts to handcuff him.  But Porter gets a

hand free and crushes the head of the flashlight.

Darkness falls... along with Sykes' expression of

satisfaction.



Porter hurls Sykes back, slamming him into a table.  The

crowd HOOTS and CHEERS.  Sykes finds his way to his feet.



			JETSON

	Matthew, you don't have to-- (do this).



			SYKES

	Stay back!  I'm okay.



He charges Porter, brandishing the flashlight like a club.

The two of them battle, then Sykes sees his opportunity

and brings his knee up viciously into the alien's groin.

Porter doubles over in feigned agony, then slowly rises

again -- smiling.



			PORTER

	Don't they teach you anything about

	us in cop school, little ss'loka'?



Porter grabs Sykes by the shirt front, is about to deliver

a crushing blow, when another arm cuts into FRAME, locking

with Porter's, blocking the punch.  It is Jetson.



			JETSON

	Enough.



			PORTER

		   (eyeing Jetson)

	Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'.  You're a

	cop.

		   (with some contempt)

	It fits you.



Jetson says something to him in the alien language.

Porter gives him a hard stare, then moves toward the back

exit.  Sykes stumbles over to Jetson.



			SYKES

	You know that guy?



			JETSON

		   (nods)

	From quarantine, when my people

	first arrived here.  He and I were

	housed together.



			SYKES

	How could a straight-arrow like you

	ever pick a roommate like him?



			JETSON

	In the camps, we were lodged four to

	a room.  The selection process was

	entirely random.  We did not get to

	stay with our friends... or

	families...



And he moves toward the back exit.  Sykes watches him go.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  "X" BAR - NIGHT



Porter leans against an alley wall.  He speaks English

learned on the streets.



			JETSON

	You don't know what your father and

	these two men were arguing about?



			PORTER

	I told you -- I was in the back of

	the store.  I just heard voices,

	muffled like.



			SYKES

	One of the two men was Hubley,

	right?  What about the other one?

	Did you know him?



			PORTER

	Yeah... I seen him around.  High-

	roller dude named Strader.  Joshua

	Strader.  Runs a club on the west

	side.  Encounters.



			SYKES

	Yeah, I heard of it.



			PORTER

	That's all I know.  You want

	anything more, you ask somebody

	else.



He pushes away from the wall, heads for the door to the

bar.



			JETSON

	I am sorry about your father.



Porter throws him a look over his shoulder, then

disappears through the door.  Sykes and Jetson start down

the alley.



			JETSON

	If I may make a suggestion... We

	have different weak spots than you

	do.  Next time, a blow to the nerve

	plexus under the arm, here, will

	produce the effect I think you were

	looking for.



			SYKES

	Yeah, sure.  I knew that...



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  BURGER STAND - NIGHT



The wall-mounted menu is in English and the Alien

Language.  The SERVERS are teen aged humans and aliens.



Sykes and Jetson stand at the counter awaiting their

order.



			KID

		   (serving them)

	Six forty-two.



They both put money on the counter.  The kid goes to put

the order together.  Sykes looks at the alien characters

on the menu.



			SYKES

	I don't think I could ever learn to

	read that shit.

		   (beat)

	How long did it take you to learn

	English?



			JETSON

	Three months.

		   (off Sykes' look)

	We learn quickly.  We adapt.  It is

	our strength... what we were bred

	for, to adapt to hostile

	environments.



The Serving Kid puts their bags on the counter.



			JETSON

		   (continuing)

	Thank you.



They take the bags and walk off, digging the food out of

the bags as they talk:



			SYKES

	My neighbor's kid has a Newcomer

	girl in his class.  She's six years

	old and in seventh grade already...



They climb into the car.





INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT



Jetson doesn't respond... some things are better left

unaddressed.  Meanwhile, Sykes has unwrapped his food and

recoils in disgust.



			SYKES

	Oh, God.  I think I got yours

	here...



He holds up two strips of raw meat with patches of animal

fur still on them.  Jetson meanwhile is grimacing at the

dripping cheeseburger he's just unwrapped.  They quickly

trade.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	Which one is that?  Raw what?



			JETSON

		   (eating a strip)

	This is mole.  It's good.



			SYKES

	I'll bet.

		   (winces, watching him

		    chew)

	Would it really put you out if they

	tossed that on the grill for a

	minute or two?



			JETSON

	Our bodies do not assimilate the

	nutrients if the food has been

	cooked.



Jetson looks over at him, smiling.



			SYKES

	Oh, that's real attractive.  You got

	fur in your teeth, George.  Come on,

	man, we're gonna be talking to

	people... jeez.



Sykes looks at his burger, his appetite gone, shoves it

back into the sack and tosses it into the back seat.





INT./ EXT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT



As Sykes pulls onto the street.



			SYKES

	So what was that other word for

	Human... Slow ka?



			JETSON

	Ss'loka'.  It means literally "small

	but intelligent creature".

		   (Sykes looks over,

		    doesn't know if he

		    likes this)

	It loses much in the translation.



			SYKES

	And what was that one about my

	mother?  That was a good one.



			JETSON

	Ss'trokya ss'lato 'na'.



			SYKES

	Yeah, that's it.  Say it slow.



Jetson pronounces the words and Sykes follows along

haltingly.  After several tries, he can say it passably

well.





INT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT



An upscale, mostly yuppie-human dance club.  The

antithesis of the "X" bar.  A human HOSTESS in a slit

dress has just finished seating Sykes and Jetson at a

table.  She moves off.  The two cops look up at the stage.



REVERSE ANGLE



revealing the exotic alien dancer named CASSANDRA.  She

moves with a feline blend of strength and grace.  Framing

her face is a silvery nylon wig that she tosses like a

mane as she undulates to the MUSIC.



Sykes watches with fascination.  The MUSIC ends and

Cassandra steps down from the stage, to be replaced by a

human DANCER as the next SONG cranks up.  Sykes and Jetson

quickly intercept her as she heads backstage.



			JETSON

	You are Cassandra?



			CASSANDRA

	That's right.



			JETSON

	We are with the Police Department.

	This is Sergeant Sykes, and I am--



			CASSANDRA

		   (laughing)

	Ss'ai k'ss?  Perfect.



			SYKES

	We're looking for your boss --

	Strader.



She eyes the two of them warily, then moves backstage,

assuming they will follow.





INT.  BACKSTAGE - NIGHT



She moves along the narrow corridor.



			CASSANDRA

	He's not here.  Why ask me?



			JETSON

	The young woman at the front said

	you might know where he is.



			CASSANDRA

	She did, did she?  Well, she was

	wrong.  Excuse me, I have to change.



			SYKES

	No problem.



She moves through a door.  Sykes follows closely so does

Jetson.





INT.  ENCOUNTERS - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT



Cassandra grabs some clothes and goes into a stall.



			SYKES

	Look, we're not here doing an

	interview for the school paper.

	This is a homicide investigation...

	and if you don't stop jerkin' us

	around, I'm ready to start playin'

	hardball.



Jetson has waited politely half-in half-out of the room.

Sykes rapidly motions to him to "go look around".  Jetson

mimes back, "Huh?"



			CASSANDRA

		   (slipping out of her

		    dance costume)

	Oooh.  Hardball.  That sounds

	interesting.  Are you going to

	strike me?  You could tie me up and

	then do whatever you want with me...

	I've got my own ropes.



			SYKES

		   (still miming to

		    Jetson)

	Does that cost extra or you throw

	them in?



			CASSANDRA

	You've got me all wrong.  I don't

	charge money for something that I

	myself find pleasurable...



Finally Jetson gets what Sykes is trying to tell him.  He

says in the uncertain, stagy voice of a bad liar:



			JETSON

	I am going out to the car.  I will

	meet you there.



Sykes rolls his eyes as Jetson exits into the corridor.

Cassandra emerges from the stall, wearing a long, stylish,

low-cut dress.



			CASSANDRA

	Look, I don't know where Mr.

	Strader might be.  He comes and he

	goes.



			SYKES

		   (starting to feel a

		    little uncomfortable)

	The girl out front mentioned

	Strader's assistant, somebody named

	Watson.  Maybe he knows.



			CASSANDRA

		   (tensing slightly)

	Todd?  Todd doesn't know either.



She is very close to Sykes now.  She fingers the lapel of

his jacket.



			CASSANDRA

		   (continuing)

	I know... Why don't you hang around

	for a while, let me entertain you?

	It's Matt, right?  Now tell me the

	truth, have you ever... made it...

	with one of us?



			SYKES

	Not unless I got real drunk and

	nobody told me about it later.



			CASSANDRA

	A virgin.  I find that very

	arousing...





INT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT



MUSIC drifts up from downstairs.  Jetson moves along the

corridor, scoping things out.  He tries a door.  Locked.

Tries another one.  Open.  He eases it wider, then enters

the darkened office.





INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT



Jetson moves into the office.  Looks around.  Makes his

way to the cluttered desk top.  Pushes things around...

all the usual stuff.  He starts to turn away, then his eye

catches something sticking out from behind a row of ledger

books.  He reaches for it.  A small dispenser -- of the

kind we saw being filled at the refinery.  Jetson studies

it, his suspicions growing.  Opening it, he finds only the

barest trace of a viscous substance.



He smells it... not enough to tell for certain what it is.

But enough that he is very concerned about what it could

be.





INT.  CASSANDRA'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT



Cassandra is practically melting herself into Sykes now.

She takes his hand and guides his fingertips over her

facial ridges.  She shudders with pleasure.  Sykes begins

to perspire.



			SYKES

	There's lots of things I haven't

	done, but his ain't high on the

	list.  Don't take it personally.



			CASSANDRA

	I think you're just a little scared

	now, about what you might find once

	the lights go out.  A little

	scared... and a lot curious.  Maybe

	more than you want to admit.  But

	doesn't that turn you on, that

	curiosity and fear, swirling

	together?

		   (coos)

	Think of it as broadening your

	horizons.



			SYKES

	I like my horizons narrow.



			CASSANDRA

		   (pressing herself

		    into him)

	Your voice is saying no, but your

	body is saying yes.



He quickly disengages from her.



			SYKES

	My voice, body, and everything else

	is saying I'll be back in two hours

	for Strader, and he better damn well

	be here.



He shoves a business card at her, then retreats through

the door.





INT.  CORRIDOR - NIGHT



Sykes closes the door and lets out his breath.





INT.  CASSANDRA'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT



Cassandra's expression instantly turns to worry and she

quickly crosses to a phone and punches the intercom

button.





INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT



Jetson, looking through a desk drawer, hears the intercom

BUZZ in the next room.  Through the wall--



			WATSON (O.S.)

		   (tentatively)

	Yes...?



			CASSANDRA (O.S.)

		   (over the intercom,

		    breathless)

	Todd, it's me.  The police were just

	here... looking for Strader.  And

	asking about you.



Jetson moves toward the door to the adjoining office,

drawing his gun.  The floor squeaks beneath his feet.  He

looks down, then continues toward the door.





INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT



Jetson eases open the door.  It's the manager's private

office.  Jetson sees the phone receiver resting on the

desk, the desk lamp on, a lit cigarette in an ashtray --

but no one behind the desk.  Jetson eases through the door

and--



-- a chair crashes down on him from behind the door!

Jetson goes down, his gun skittering out of his hand.





INT.  PRIVATE OFFICE - NIGHT



Jetson and his assailant battle in the well-appointed

office.





INT.  OFFICE - SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT



Sykes hears the fight through the private office door.

He throws the door open.





INT.  PRIVATE OFFICE - NIGHT



Sykes stands in the doorway, the Casull straight-armed at

Jetson's assailant.



			SYKES

	Freeze!  Now!



The assailant does.  He looks at Sykes, scared, breathing

hard.  He's a Newcomer in a snappy Armani suit.  This is

TODD WATSON.  Jetson, on the floor, starts to rise.



Suddenly somebody flies at Sykes from the side, knocking

him sideways down the corridor.  It's Cassandra.  Watson

seizes the moment and shoves the off-balance Jetson into

some furniture and dives for the door.





INT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT



Watson runs down the corridor, ducking onto a fire escape.

Meanwhile Sykes wrestles with Cassandra.  She's as strong

as he is, but he has the edge in experience.



Jetson, disheveled, appears in the private office doorway,

ready to chase Watson, but not knowing which way he went.



			SYKES

		   (struggling with

		    Cassandra)

	Fire escape!  End of the hall!



Jetson nods, takes off down the corridor.  Sykes manges to

get one handcuff on Cassandra's wrist, the other cuff

around a pipe sticking out of the wall.  She SCREECHES at

him in the alien language as he collects the Casull and

charges down the corridor.





EXT.  FIRE ESCAPE - OUTSIDE ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT



Jetson pounds down the fire escape.  Below him, he sees

Watson reach the ground and take off running for the

parking area.



Jetson reaches the ground and gives chase.





EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT



Watson zig-zags through the parked cars, Jetson cutting

down other rows trying to make up the distance between

them.





EXT.  FIRE ESCAPE - OUTSIDE ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT



Sykes bangs down the fire escape, leaping the last fifteen

feet to the ground.





EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT



Watson reaches his Alfa Romeo, yanks open the door, fires

it up.  Jetson slides up, ten feet behind the car, pulls

his gun, aims.



The white reverse-lights flash on.  Jetson stands there,

gun aimed -- but he hesitates to shoot.  In that split

second hesitation, Watson floors it... Jetson jumping to

avoid being hit.





INT.  ALFA ROMEO - NIGHT



Watson throws the car into Drive, looks up, and sees Sykes

standing right in front of the car.  He hits the gas.

Sykes has no choice then to leap onto the hood of the car.

Watson, with Sykes' face on the other side of the glass,

panics and--





EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT



-- plows the Alfa into some parked cars.



Sykes is up in a flash -- yanks Watson out of the car.



Watson rears back to swing at Sykes, when Sykes swings his

arms around in two wide arcs, his fists landing two direct

hits in the nerve centers under Watson's arms.  Watson

folds over with a "ooowwph" sound and drops to his knees.



			SYKES

		   (breathing hard)

	I'll be damned.  It worked.

		   (sees Jetson run up)

	How'd you like that, huh?  Whammo!

	Both barrels.  Dropped him like a

	bag of cement.



Jetson picks up Watson's fallen wallet.  He looks at the

I.D.



			SYKES

	Who is he?



			JETSON

	Todd Watson.  The assistant manager.



Watson is still doubled over, just trying to draw one

agonized breath.



			WATSON

	I don't believe this.  Look at my

	suit.  Look at what you made me do

	to my car.



			SYKES

		   (laughing)

	Your girlfriend put up a better

	fight than you did, pal.



			JETSON

	We are looking for your employer,

	Joshua Strader.



			WATSON

	He's out of town.



			JETSON

	Why did you run?



			WATSON

	Because you two were chasing me.



			SYKES

	We were chasing you because you ran,

	you dumb son-of-a-bitch.



			JETSON

	When will Strader return?



			WATSON

	Who knows.  He's the boss -- he

	doesn't have to check in with me.



			SYKES

		   (wearily)

	Watson... this is my partner here's

	first coupla days, and he wants to

	make a good impression.  Me, though,

	the way I feel -- this could be my

	last day, know what I mean?  And I'm

	ready to rain on you like a cow

	pissin' on a flat rock.



			WATSON

	Look -- Mr. Strader hasn't been

	around for a coupla days.  He didn't

	tell me where he was going or when

	he'd be back.  I swear it.



			SYKES

		   (to Jetson)

	What do you think?



			JETSON

	I believe he is probably lying.



			SYKES

	Through his ass.

		   (to Watson)

	Next time you see him, tell him to

	call me... unless you want us to

	keep coming back on you like a bad

	case of herpes.



Sykes shoves a business card in Watson's breast pocket.

They walk away and Watson slumps against his car.



ANGLE - MOVING WITH SYKES AND JETSON



as they walk wearily to the slug-mobile.



			SYKES

	George, you can handle the women

	from now on, you mind?



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  ENCOUNTERS PARKING LOT - NIGHT



Watson is alone, surveying the damage to his Alfa, when he

hears footsteps.  He turns with a "What now?" expression

and -- a shotgun butt is slammed into his forehead.  He

goes down.  Kipling stands over him, flanked by FOUR HUMAN

THUGS.  One of these is QUINT, senior human in Harcourt's

employ.



			QUINT

		   (to other Thugs)

	Okay, scrape him up.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  ZUMA BEACH APPROACH _ NIGHT



Harcourt's private limo glides down the narrow access

road, passing a lookout car attended by two alien Thugs.

The limo moves down to the beach, parking near an n.d.

van.



Harcourt exits the limo, walks onto the sand to the back

of the van.  Here he finds Kipling and Quint and the three

human Thugs.



They have Watson chained to the van's rear bumper, facing

the sea, and have been working him over with a tire iron.

He's bruised and bloody, but still conscious.



			HARCOURT

	Any progress?



			QUINT

	My arm's gettin' tired and so far,

	zip.



			KIPLING

	He is ss'verdlatya ss'alo to

	Strader.



			QUINT

	What's that mean?



			KIPLING

	Duty-bonded.  His allegiance to

	Strader is above pain or life.



			QUINT

	You tellin' me this guy would die

	before he'd screw his boss and work

	for us?  Nobody's that dumb.



			KIPLING

	It is something you couldn't

	comprehend, Quint.



Harcourt approaches Watson, kneels beside him, careful to

keep the knee of his designer pants out of the sand.



			HARCOURT

	I understand you have been resisting

	my offer Mr. Watson.  Your sense of

	duty to Mr. Strader is noble, but --

	no longer an issue, I'm afraid...



Harcourt signals and the two Thugs drag an alien body from

the back if the van: a middle-aged alien, Strader, shot

twice through the front of his silk suit.  Watson's eyes

widen in fear.



			HARCOURT

		   (continuing)

	I will not make this offer again.  I

	want you to work for me, to manage

	the nightclub as Strader's successor.

	If you do, you will know a wealth

	and comfort our people never dared

	imagine...



Watson stares at Harcourt, scared but defiant.



			WATSON

	Sss'k'a ta'!



Harcourt studies Watson a moment, perhaps even admiring

his resolve.  Then--



			HARCOURT

	It is such a pity to die for an

	outmoded value.

		   (rising)

	Mr. Quint, I believe it's time for

	our friend's swimming lesson.



Watson freaks out, howling and lashing against the chains.



			HARCOURT

		   (to Watson)

	It's important to learn new skills.

	Essential to your growth as a

	person.



Quint and the Thugs free Watson from the bumper.  He bucks

and lunges as they drag him toward the surf.  Quint

addresses one of the Thugs, a new guy.



			QUINT

	You never seen this before, have

	you, Billy?  oh, man, you ain't

	gonna believe it... seawater is like

	battery acid to these guys... I

	don't know what it is, some kinds

	chemical reaction.  Whatta you think

	it is, Watson?  Whoa, hold him.

		   (a wave breaks

		    outside, the foam

		    rolls in)

	What I love about the surf is you

	can never tell how far up it's going

	to come until it... whoops, got a

	little wet there.



The wave just sloshes over Watson's lower legs.  He

screams.  Flailing, one of his hands dips below the

surface of the water.  He howls and yanks out his hand.

We see the alien hand dripping seawater... then a thousand

droplets of purple alien blood begin to bead all over the

hand.  The Thugs get Watson swinging.



			QUINT

	Last call, sucker.  One... two...

	THREE!



Watson is flung into the surf.



ANGLE



Harcourt and Kipling have walked down almost to the

waterline.  We HEAR Watson's GURGLES and SCREAMS... then

nothing.  Kipling is very nervous this close to the water.

Harcourt seems unperturbed.



			KIPLING

	When we picked him up, he was

	talking to those two cops -- the two

	who came to question you about

	Hubley.



			HARCOURT

	This is getting out of hand.  I want

	you to deal with it.  Immediately.



A wave rushes up the sand.  Kipling quickly steps back.

Harcourt stands firm, staring it down, and the foam stops

six inches from his dress shoes.



			HARCOURT

		   (continuing)

	We must learn to embrace the things

	we fear... and from that grow

	strong.



A moment, then he turns and starts back toward the limo.

He motions to Strader's body and the surf.  The Thugs grab

the body and heave it into the waves.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT



Jetson is talking rapidly in the alien language on the

kitchen wall phone.  Sykes, foreground, takes the bottle

of vodka from the refrigerator, throws some ice in a

glass, pours himself a shot.  As Jetson is talking, he

spots the carton of milk that Sykes inadvertently left out

of the refrigerator two nights ago.



He sniffs it... his eyebrows do an involuntary movement.

He finishes with his wife and hangs up.  He watches Sykes

take a long pull on the vodka.



			JETSON

		   (holds up milk

		    carton)

	Would you mind?



Sykes shrugs, tosses him a glass.  Jetson pours the semi-

lumpy milk and takes a big swallow.  Sykes grimaces.

Then--



			SYKES

		   (indicates phone)

	So, she keeps you on a pretty short

	leash, does she?



			JETSON

	My wife?  She worries about me.



Sykes leans against the counter, getting comfortable, his

voice more weary then bitter.



			SYKES

	Yeah... I know the routine.



			JETSON

	You are married?



			SYKES

	Was.  Divorced.



			JETSON

	We mate for life.  Divorce... is a

	strange concept to us.



			SYKES

	It's like having an eleventh finger

	removed.  It hurts like hell, but

	you never really needed the damn

	thing in the first place.



Jetson nods -- even though he doesn't really understand

this.  They drink... Jetson gazes around.



			JETSON

	Your home is quite disordered.  I

	thought perhaps you had been

	burglarized when I walked in.



			SYKES

		   (growling)

	I appreciate your honesty, George.



He smacks his glass against Jetson's.  They drink.





INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - LATER



Sykes has his wallet out... showing Jetson a dog-eared

photo.



			SYKES

	Ignore the bitch on the left, that's

	Edie.  I call her Edi Amin... This

	is Kristin, my daughter.  It's kinda

	an old picture... she's twenty now.

	Getting married, in fact... on

	Sunday.



Jetson sitting across the table from Sykes, looks at the

proffered photo.  They're both a little drunk now.



			JETSON

	Human children can be very

	beautiful.

		   (then)

	Getting married?  Congratulations.

	You will be taking Sunday off,

	then...



			SYKES

		   (uneasy)

	Maybe not... I don't know.  I'm not

	sure I'm gonna go.

		   (mumbles)

	She doesn't need her burn-out of a

	father there...



Jetson looks at him.  Sees something he never thought

possible in Sykes.  Vulnerability.  Trying to break the

melancholy mood, Jetson reaches for his wallet.



			JETSON

		   (upbeat)

	I must show you...

		   (flips open wallet,

		    shows four crisp

		    photos of his wife)

	And this is Richard.  My son.  He's

	four years old.  We named him after

	the former President, Richard Nixon.



Sykes looks at all the photos sprawled out on the table...

and has to laugh.  He looks up at Jetson's sincere face.

He may be starting to like this guy.



			SYKES

	You open to a piece of advice?  Tell

	people you named him after Richard

	Burton, the actor.  Just take my

	word for it.



And he clacks his glass against Jetson's sitting on the

table, and--





INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - LATER



They are quite a bit drunker.  Jetson has doffed his

jacket and tie, leans in, listening intently to Sykes.



			SYKES

	... and so, and so the doctor says,

	"If this is the thermometer, then

	where'd I leave the pen?"

		   (laughs raucously,

		    Jetson doesn't

		    react)

	You're not... you don't think that's

	funny?  George, work with me, I

	always get a laugh with that one.

	Look, if the doctor's got the

	thermometer in his hand, then

	where's his pen gotta be?



			JETSON

		   (straight-faced)

	In the other man's rectum.



			SYKES

		   (laughing)

	Sticking out of his ass... yeah!

	See, that's what makes it a joke.

	There's like a surprise, and your

	mind fills in the funny picture.

	Here's this guy with a pen stuck in

	his ass and he thinks it's a

	thermometer.

		   (Jetson just blinks)

	Nada, huh?



Jetson shrugs apologetically.  Sykes pours them each

another round.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	Your health...



			JETSON

	Ta ss'trakyona'...



They CLACK glasses, and--





INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - LATER STILL



The party has moves into the living room floor, around the

coffee table.  It's a quieter moment.



			JETSON

	There is so much our two peoples

	don't understand about each other.



			SYKES

	No shit, Holmes.  You're only from

	another goddamn planet, for

	chrissakes.



			JETSON

	You humans are very curious to us.

	You invite us to live among you, in

	an atmosphere of equality we've

	never known before.  You lay before

	us a beautiful green world, full of

	freedoms and opportunities... You

	give us ownership of our lives for

	the first time... and you ask no

	more of us than you do of

	yourselves: to live by the rules...

	rules that aren't made to keep one

	people subordinate to another, but

	rules that exist to preserve

	equality.  You aspire to very high

	ideals here.



Sykes is watching Jetson, mesmerized.  The guy's never

said this much at one time before.



If he wasn't drunk, Jetson would never let himself open up

to a human like this.



			JETSON

		   (continuing)

	I hope you can understand how

	special your world is... how unique

	a people you humans are.  So it us

	all the more painful and confusing

	to us that so few of you seem

	capable of living up the the ideals

	you set for yourselves.



			SYKES

	Don't count on me, George.  I never

	had any ideals.



Jetson smiles a little.  He knows that's bullshit.



			JETSON

	We don't understand the hatred, the

	contempt.  But we must bear it... we

	must not react in anger... because

	our situation here is still fragile.

	The separationists would see us

	returned to the quarantine camps.

	The fundamentalists say we have no

	more human rights than dogs or cats.

	But the prejudice we face here is so

	insignificant compared to the pain

	that we've known before.  And that

	is why we are so grateful.



Sykes studies him a long time through heavy-lidded eyes.

Finally--



			SYKES

	Yeah, well... except I did hear you

	eat your dead.



Jetson looks at him a long beat, then--



			JETSON

		   (deadpan)

	Only on Fridays.



Sykes stares at him for about five seconds and then

explodes with laughter.



			SYKES

	You son-of-a-bitch.  You're okay.



Jetson stands unsteadily, and announces:



			JETSON

	I'm going home.



			SYKES

	Yeah, go home.  Get some sleep.  You

	do sleep, don't you?



Jetson, going out the front door, just waves over his

shoulder without turning around.  He's gone.



			SYKES

	What a wildman...



Sykes, stands there wobbling, then he collapses backward

onto the sofa, unconscious.  And we MATCH DISSOLVE TO--





INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - DAWN



The first hues of dawn stream through the window.  Sykes

remains passed out on the sofa where we left him.





EXT.  STREET - FRONT OF SYKES' BUILDING - DAWN



The slug-mobile parked at the curb.  Silence, then the

RUMBLE of a heavy truck... and a tow truck turns onto this

street at the corner.



The tow truck glides to the curb in front of the slug-

mobile.  The driver stays inside as his passenger alights

carrying a tool kit and a paper bag.  The human is Quint.



Quint uses a slim-jim to open the slug-mobile door, then

slides behind the wheel.





INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DAWN



Quint slides the contents from the paper bag.  It is a

packet of C-4 plastic explosives, with a primer cap, and

two lead wires with their ends bared.  Quint bends down,

starts to work under the dash.  As his head disappears

from FRAME, suddenly another head appears above the

seats... George Jetson sitting up groggily in the back

seat.  A blanket slips off his head and shoulders.  He

sits there blinking, rubbing his eyes, feeling lousy.



Under the dash, Quint starts to whistle as he works.

Mistake.



Jetson, with a puzzled expression, leans forward and sees

this guy in the front seat.  Before he can jump-start his

brain, Quint sits up, sees him, and hammers him in the

face with his fist.  Jetson is knocked back, holding his

face.  That was the last thing he needed.





EXT.  STREET - FRONT OF SYKES' BUILDING - DAWN



Meanwhile Quint is shouting and bailing out of the car.

He runs and leaps into the already moving tow truck.



It is sliding around the corner out of sight just as

Jetson stumbles out of the car.  He whips out his gun from

the unfamiliar shoulder rig and it flies out of his hand.

Jetson sags against the side of the car, mumbles an alien

phrase, clearly the equivalent of "Fuck it...".



				    CUT TO:



INT.  SYKES' APARTMENT - DAY



Sykes is in the fetal position on the couch where we left

him.  Someone is POUNDING on the door.  He regains

consciousness reluctantly.



			SYKES

	This better be good news or money.



He shambles to the door and gets it open, admitting

Jetson.  Jetson holds the C-4 charge in a handkerchief

with one hand and gives it to Sykes.



			JETSON

	Hold this.

		   (lurching to the

		    sink)

	I feel very terrible.



Sykes registers what he's holding.  He moves to Jetson,

who is running his head under the tap.



			SYKES

	Where'd you get this?!!



			JETSON

	A man, a human, was wiring it to

	your car.  I didn't get a good look

	at him.

		   (then, registering

		    that it's day;

		    panicked)

	I must call my wife...



				    CUT TO:



INT.  PRECINCT FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY



Jetson is starting to take on Sykes' looks, his clothing

rumpled and a day old.  Sykes has showered and changed so

he's not suffering as much by comparison.  They approach

Sykes' desk.



			JETSON

	She's going to divorce me.



			SYKES

	George, she's not gonna divorce you.

	You mate for life, remember?



			JETSON

	She's very progressive.  I'm certain

	she's considering it.



ANGLE - A UNIFORMED SECRETARY



distributing phone slips nearby notices Sykes.



			SECRETARY

	You guys are looking for somebody

	named Strader, right?



			SYKES

	Yeah.



			SECRETARY

	Fedorchuk and Alterez just phoned

	in.  They found him.

		   (Sykes and Jetson

		    react)

	Or at least what's left of him,

	washed up on the beach at Zuma.



Sykes and Jetson react again.



			SECRETARY

		   (continuing; handing

		    over  the message

		    slip)

	They're still there if you wanna

	catch them.



She moves off.



			SYKES

	Well, let's roll, George.



			JETSON

		   (with a stricken

		    expression)

	To the... to the beach?



			SYKES

	Come on, let's go, dude.  Surf's up!



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - ZUMA BEACH - DUSK



CRANE SHOT, nice and WIDE, showing the slug-mobile turning

off P.C.H. onto a gravel road which curves down the the

beach.  The following is V.O. as the car approaches the

water.



			JETSON (V.O.)

	Stop the car.



			SYKES (V.O.)

	Why?



			JETSON (V.O.)

	Please, I must get out here.



			SYKES (V.O.)

	Come on, you won't have to get near

	the water.



			JETSON (V.O.)

	Stop the car!



We see the car pull to a stop in a cloud of dust.





INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DUSK



			SYKES

	All right, okay.  Keep your

	pantyhose on.  Jeez, when in doubt,

	freak out, for chrissake.



Sykes sees that his partner is covered with a sudden sheen

of sweat, his hands shaking.  Sykes softens.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	It's all right, George.  It's cool.

	Just wait here, all right?  I'll be

	back in a coupla minutes.



			JETSON

	Thank you.



He climbs out and Sykes drives down to the beach... toward

a cluster of vehicles: a Sheriff's black-and-white, a

coroner's wagon, and Fedorchuk's unmarked sedan.





EXT.  BEACH - DUSK



A quick glimpse of a pile of dark yuck in the shape of a

person, black and skeletal beneath the remains of a silk

suit.  Wound around the corpse are streamers of kelp and

other high tide detritus.



ANGLE ON SYKES, FEDORCHUK, AND ALTEREZ



looking down at the body.  A CORONER'S TECHNICIAN is doing

a closer inspection.



			FEDORCHUK

	Found his wallet in his jacket

	pocket.  Joshua Strader, big as

	life.



			CORONER'S TECH

	Jesus, what a mess.  It's gonna be a

	bear to make a positive

	determination, but it looks to me

	like he was shot before being tossed

	in the drink.  At least twice--

		   (indicates where

		    hearts  would've

		    been on the body)

	-- here, and here.



Sykes absorbs this.  He rises along with Fedorchuk and

Alterez.



			SYKES

	How're you two doing on Tuggle's

	killer?



			ALTEREZ

	The store owner's son is in a street

	gang, so now we're thinking maybe

	it's gang related.



			SYKES

	Yeah, that's real good.  You guys

	follow up on that for a coupla

	months.



Fedorchuk looks up at Jetson standing on the bluff above.



			FEDORCHUK

	Look at your dildo partner.  He's

	too scared to even come down to the

	sand.

		   (calls up to Jetson,

		    even though he's too

		    far away to hear)

	You're not gonna get wet standing

	here, moron!



			SYKES

	I'd like to see you next to a sea of

	hydrochloric acid, Fedorchuk... see

	how much surfin' you'd do.



Alterez shoots a polaroid of the body.  Sykes grabs it as

it emerges from the camera and walks back toward the car.

Fedorchuk flips him the bird.  As Sykes rounds the car, he

sees that someone has drawn on the door in yellow liquid

chalk marker a big star with "E.T. P.D." printed inside

it.  Sykes looks around.  Fedorchuk and the others stand

together chuckling, conspicuously not looking in his

direction.



			SYKES

	Cute.





EXT.  BEACH ROAD - DUSK



Sykes has stopped to pick Jetson up.



He's wiping the "E.T. P.D."  from the door as Jetson

approaches from the edge of the bluff.  Fedorchuk pulls up

alongside in his n.d. sedan.  He calls off to Jetson, who

is still twenty yards away.



			FEDORCHUK

	Well, if it isn't Detective Jetson.

	Forget you hip waders, big guy?



			SYKES

	Lay off, asshole.



			FEDORCHUK

	I may be an asshole, but at least

	I'm a real detective, not some outer

	shit space thing.



Sykes, his face neutral, which we should by now know to be

highly dangerous, saunters to Fedorchuk's car and leans

against it.



			SYKES

	Yeah?  you're a real honest-to-god

	detective...?



Sykes grabs the back of Fedorchuk's head and slams it into

the steering wheel, BAM-HONK!, and in doing so, has hurt

his hand again (the hand he hit Jetson with).



He shakes that hand while lunging in and grabbing

Fedorchuk's car keys with the other.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	Then detect these!



Fedorchuk, holding his bloody nose, watches as his car

keys sail out in an arc out over the bluff.  Jetson, just

climbing into the slug-mobile, witnesses the last of this

scene without knowing how it began.





INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - DUSK



Sykes gets in, slams the door.  His hand hurts as he grabs

the wheel.  He holds the wheel gingerly as he slams the

car into gear and hurls gravel up the road toward P.C.H.

Jetson looks over, curious.



			JETSON

	What was that about?



			SYKES

		   (embarrassed that he

		    defended Jetson)

	Nothing.



On Jetson's confused expression, we--



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  BURGER STAND - NIGHT



A different burger stand.  Sykes and Jetson sit across

from each other at one of the outdoor tables... Sykes with

his greasy burger, Jetson with his mole strips.  This time

they have no trouble eating in front of each other as they

talk.



			SYKES

	... So we've got three guys dead.

	All Newcomers, all killed the same

	way -- execution style.



			JETSON

	Warren Hubley was in middle

	management at a refinery... Joshua

	Strader operated a successful bar

	and nightclub...



			SYKES

	... and Porter ran a piece of shit

	mom-and-pop mini-mart.

		   (beat)

	So what the hell's the connection?



				    CUT TO:



INT.  PATHOLOGY LAB OFFICE - NIGHT



Sykes and Jetson enter the cluttered lab office.  Winter

is here eating take-out chicken at his cluttered desk.



			SYKES

	You guys finished the postmortem on

	Strader yet?



			WINTER

		   (his mouth full)

	You mean the Blob?  They're

	finishing up now.



			JETSON

	Is Bentner here?  I must speak with

	him.



			WINTER

	He went home early -- his kid was

	sick.



Jetson frowns.



			WINTER

		   (continuing)

	Yeah, but he left something for you.



He wipes his greasy fingers on a napkin, then finds an

envelope on the desk and hands it to Jetson.  Jetson tears

open the sealed envelope.  The message inside is written

in the alien language.



			WINTER

		   (continuing)

	Does this have something to do with

	the test he ran that he wouldn't

	tell me about?



CLOSE ON - JETSON



His expression grows stricken as he reads the message.



BACK TO SCENE



			SYKES

		   (getting very curious

		    and suspicious now)

	What kind of test?



			WINTER

	Looking for some foreign compound in

	the blood of that alien you dropped

	the other day.



			SYKES

	Did he find anything?



Winter shrugs, indicates the message Jetson reads, as if

to say, "Maybe it says in there".



			SYKES

		   (to Jetson)

	Well?



Jetson refolds the paper and puts it in his pocket.



He is clearly disturbed by what he has read.  He looks at

Sykes a moment, then quickly breaks eye contact.



			JETSON

	It is nothing.



Jetson quickly moves off.  Sykes hurries off after him.





INT.  HALLWAY - NIGHT



Sykes hurries to catch up with the fast walking Jetson.

They eventually reach the elevators and Jetson jabs the

button during:



			SYKES

	What's this nothing shit?  It wasn't

	nothing yesterday when you asked

	Bentner to run that test and he

	looked like he was about to shit

	peach pits, and it's not nothing

	now.  Don't lie to me, George,

	you're bad at it.



			JETSON

		   (distant, closed)

	You must leave me alone on this.



The elevator arrives, he steps in.  Sykes follows.





INT.  ELEVATOR - NIGHT



They enter the empty elevator.  Jetson presses the button

to descend.



			SYKES

	No, see, I don't leave you alone...

	I'm your partner.  I don't work that

	way... Tug didn't work that way.



Jetson remains steadfast.  Sykes, about to explode, slams

his palm against the red Emergency Stop button and the

elevator lurches to a halt between floors.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	No secrets, goddammit!  You don't

	hold back from me.  Whatever is

	going on, you're gonna tell me now!



			JETSON

		   (agonizing)

	No.  I cannot involve you.  This is

	not your concern.



			SYKES

	The hell it isn't, when somebody

	wires up enough C-4 explosive to my

	car to turn me into pink mist!

		   (beat)

	That Slag was on something, and not

	sour milk, either?  Am I right?

		   (he has backed Jetson

		    to the wall by sheer

		    force of will)

	TELL ME!  What is it?



			JETSON

		   (finally)

	... It is called ss'jabroka'.  To us

	it is a potent narcotic.



			SYKES

	How potent?



			JETSON

	Like your cocaine, I suppose.  The

	"high" lasts several hours.  We

	would receive small amounts of it...

	as a reward for our labor.



			SYKES

	We?  You've taken it?



			JETSON

	We all did.



			SYKES

	Where did he get it?  Was there any

	of it on the ship?



			JETSON

	No... I am sure not.  That is why I

	am so concerned... someone must now

	be producing it here.

		   (emphatically)

	But none of my people know how to

	make it.  The process was carefully

	guarded.



			SYKES

		   (as the enormity

		    sinks in)

	Jesus, this is major.

		   (then)

	Why didn't you tell me sooner?

	Why'd you hold out on me?



			JETSON

	Your people don't know about this

	part of out past.  And they can't

	know -- It would threaten our entire

	existence here.



The voltage runs out of Sykes.  He seems to understand

Jetson's dilemma.



			SYKES

	George... look me in the eye...

	George, you don't ever lie to me

	again.



			JETSON

	I must trust you, Matthew.  I cannot

	stop this without you.



Sykes stare at Jetson... absorbing the enormity of the

earth-shattering secret this alien has asked him to keep.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  COUNTY MORGUE - NIGHT



Sykes and Jetson move quickly to the slug-mobile.  Sykes

reaches for the driver's door handle with his punching

hand.  He winces in pain... the son-of-a-bitch still

hurts.  He looks across at Jetson opening the passenger

door.



			SYKES

	George?  How about you drive...



Jetson looks over at him... gently reacting to this vote

of confidence.  They walk quickly around to the opposite

doors, climb in.





INT.  CORRIDOR - BUREAU OF NEWCOMER AFFAIRS - NIGHT



Sykes and Jetson move down this government-building

corridor.



			SYKES

	There's gotta be some other

	connection.



They enter a door marked BUREAU OF NEWCOMER AFFAIRS.





INT.  BUREAU OF NEWCOMER AFFAIRS - NIGHT



HIGH SHOT showing the maze of partitioned cubicles filling

this huge room.  It's all but deserted.  Sykes and Jetson

are off to one side with a heavyset woman (human) COMPUTER

OPERATOR, who they're shanghaied into helping them after

hours.



CLOSER - AT COMPUTER OPERATOR'S DESK



She sits at her computer terminal.  Sykes and Jetson stand

behind her as she types in commands and information.



She types: Hubley, Warren.  The computer screen flashes

past various information, then settles on a screen full of

information of HUBLEY, WARREN.



			OPERATOR

	Here's Hubley.

		   (scanning it)

	Left Quarantine on November

	thirtieth, relocated first to

	Riverside, then moved to Los Angeles

	early in February the following

	year.  Field of expertise: chemical

	manufacturing.  Looks like he passed

	up several other better paying jobs

	waiting for that one at the

	refinery.



			SYKES

	Try Joshua Strader, will ya,

	darlin'?



			OPERATOR

	For you, anything.



The Operator punches up STRADER, JOSHUA.  The screen fills

with information.



			OPERATOR

		   (continuing, reading

		    from screen)

	Released on November twenty-ninth.

	Came immediately to L.A.  Ten weeks

	after arriving he took over the

	abandoned club which is now

	Encounters.



			JETSON

		   (to Operator)

	Now the store owner, please.  Cecil

	Porter.



She types it in.



			OPERATOR

	Released December one.  He and his

	wife moved first to Modesto, then

	Coalinga, California -- wherever

	that is -- settled in L.A. in

	April.  Field of expertise:

	organic chemical engineering.  He

	and his wife have one child, a son.



			SYKES

	Yeah -- we met him.  Wonderful

	boy... close personal friend of

	George's here.



			OPERATOR

	I'm sorry, Matt.  Nothing here seems

	to be matching up...



But Sykes wasn't listening.  He's starting off... an idea

forming.  He stands there a moment, considering it, his

face looking like he's chewing something sour.  It's so

off-the-wall it takes a moment for him to assimilate it.

Then--



			SYKES

	Holy shit...

		   (to Jetson)

	Look what we're staring at: three

	Newcomers with nothing in common,

	right?  What if it's just one other

	guy who killed these three?

		   (Jetson looks at him

		    blankly)

	Three and one make four.  Four

	Newcomers... of totally different

	backgrounds...

		   (Jetson still doesn't

		    get it)

	You and the store owner's son --

	that punker!



Suddenly the realization hits Jetson, too.  He looks at

Sykes.



			JETSON

	... Quarantine.



Sykes spins to the Operator, excited.



			SYKES

	Can you dig up their Quarantine

	records in this thing?



			OPERATOR

	Sure.  Just a minute.



She moves up a screen to the top of Porter's information.



			OPERATOR

		   (to herself)

	Porter was in Lodge seven seven two.



She rapidly types in additional information.  The screen

shifts as she jumps files.  Finally she gets a line that

reads: ENTER LODGE NUMBER: She types: 7-7-2.



Sykes and Jetson lean in as the screen goes blank... then

information flashes past as the computer searches... then,

finally: Occupants, Quarantine Lodge 772: HUBLEY,

WARREN......... STRADER, JOSHUA.........



Sykes and Jetson react -- their hunch is coming true.



On the computer screen: .........PORTER, CECIL.........



Sykes and Jetson, their faces bathed in the green kick of

the screen, stare without blinking, waiting for that forth

name.



On the computer screen: .........HARCOURT, WILLIAM.



CLOSE ON - SYKES AND JETSON



reacting to the name.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT



CLOSE on a limousine door as it opens and a tall figure

rises from the back seat.  We TILT UP to reveal William

Harcourt.



We MOVE with him as he walks to the n.d. van (from the

beach scene) parked in front of the limousine.  Kipling is

just sliding out of the passenger side of the cab.  Quint

exits the driver door.  Kipling slides open the van's side

panel, reaches in for--



-- a large black suitcase.  He slides it out.  Harcourt

nods.  He and Kipling start into the club, followed by

Quint.





INT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT



The club is deserted tonight as Harcourt and entourage

move toward the back.





EXT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT



Harcourt and the others move up the stairs to the second

floor.  Cassandra, wearing a slinky dress, is at the top

of the stairs waiting for them.  She's very uncomfortable

dealing with Harcourt.  Kipling and Quint continue on

toward the office door.  Harcourt pauses with Cassandra.

He touches her neckline of her dress, letting his fingers

linger against her flesh.



			HARCOURT

	Quite lovely...

		   (best)

	What is your name again?



			CASSANDRA

		   (flinching

		    involuntarily at

		    his touch)

	Cassandra.



			HARCOURT

		   (a chilling smile)

	I will have to remember that...



He continues down toward the office door.  Cassandra

watches him go.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - MOVING - NIGHT



			JETSON

	They had months in quarantine to

	develop the plan.  Porter, with his

	chemistry background, must have

	somehow come up with the formula for

	the drug.  Hubley manufactured it --

	at the refinery.  Strader, through

	the nightclub, established a

	distribution network.  And

	Harcourt--



			SYKES

	Harcourt was the brain who brought

	it all together.





EXT.  REFINERY - ESTABLISHING SHOT - NIGHT





EXT.  REFINERY - NIGHT



The slug-mobile skids to a stop at the loading dock

entrance.  Sykes and Jetson climb out.  They hop up onto

the loading platform and move purposefully into the well-

lit interior through the open door.





INT.  REFINERY - NIGHT



It is Saturday night, the plant is barely operational --

only a few WORKERS around.  Sykes and Jetson move

purposefully toward the back.



			SYKES

	Okay, George -- we gotta play this

	real smart.



			JETSON

	If the drug is here, we must destroy

	it.



			SYKES

	No, George -- you're missing the

	point.  The drug is evidence.  We

	need to have the evidence, ya know?



Jetson doesn't reply -- he's focused beyond what Sykes is

saying.  Sykes spots O'Neal up ahead by the refrigeration

door to the METHANE SECTION.



			SYKES

		   (continuing)

	That's the guy...



O'Neal recognizes Sykes and doesn't wait around for the

big Newcomer bearing down on him.  He dodges quickly

through the refrigeration door and swings it closed.

Jetson's hand hits the door an instant later, before it is

latched, and he pushes it open despite O'Neal's body

weight against the other side.





INT.  METHANE ROOM - NIGHT



Jetson grabs O'Neal by the collar and drags him deeper

into the deserted room.



			O'NEAL

	Hey, what are you, crazy?!  You

	can't come in here like this!  Hey!



Sykes reaches the doorway, stops and stares.



			SYKES

	So much for playing it smart...



O'Neal's feet are barely touching the ground as Jetson

moves along the row of drug-manufacturing equipment.



Finally he reaches a stainless steel tub... he runs a long

finger along the inside, comes up with some residue of the

drug.  It glistens blue on his finger.  It holds him

mesmerized for several moments... his expression that of a

former junkie beholding the stuff he used to covet so.



			SYKES

		   (tentatively

		    stepping closer)

	Is that it...?



A beat, than Jetson explodes -- he sweeps a rack of

equipment off the worktable, savagely wipes the drug from

his hand onto O'Neal's shirt-front as he slams and pins

the bug-eyed O'Neal to the wall.



			SYKES

	Uh, George...



			JETSON

		   (in O'Neal's face)

	Where is the drug?  Where have they

	taken it?



			O'NEAL

		   (choking)

	What drug?  This is an oil refinery,

	you...



			JETSON

		   (pushing harder)

	WHERE?!



			O'NEAL

		   (unable to breathe)

	You... can't do... this!



			SYKES

	George, uh... you're gonna break his

	little chest bones...



			JETSON

	Stay out of this, Matthew.

		   (to O'Neal)

	Tell me where the drug has been

	taken or I will crush your lungs

	against this wall.



O'Neal is experiencing real fear now.  Sykes has decided

to back Jetson up, for better or worse.  He takes the

"good cop" role.



			SYKES

	Don't piss him off, O'Neal.  When he

	gets like this, I can't control him.

	I've seen this before.  He got like

	this once -- I saw him jerk a guy's

	spine out and show it to him.

	Nothing I could do.  I hadda go

	throw up.



			O'NEAL

		   (at length, with

		    great effort)

	... They took the stuff out, all of

	it -- this afternoon.



			JETSON

	How much?



			O'NEAL

	About fifty kilos... of

	concentrate... and some street

	grade... in tubes.



Jetson reacts to this... then increases the pressure.

O'Neal is really in bad trouble now.  Even Sykes takes a

half-step forward -- thinking Jetson might actually crush

this man.



			JETSON

	Where have they taken it?



			O'NEAL

	Encount... Encounters Club.



Finally, Jetson eases off.  O'Neal slumps to the floor,

gasping for air.



				    CUT TO:



EXT.  REFINERY - NIGHT



This time Jetson is the Juggernaut... his expression set

and hard... as he strides to the car.  Sykes practically

has to run to keep up.



			SYKES

	George, c'mon -- lighten up.  It's

	a beauty of a case.  Don't sweat it

	-- we got him by the short hairs.

	He ain't gonna make any more of the

	shit.



			JETSON

	The fifty kilos, Matthew.  I have to

	find it.  I can't let it get out on

	the street.



			SYKES

	Why?  What's the big goddamn deal?



Jetson has reached the driver's door of the slug-mobile,

yanks it open.



			SYKES

		   (continuing; as

		    Jetson starts the

		    car

	You destroy that drug, you destroy

	the case.  Don't blow the whole

	thing now by not following

	procedure.



			JETSON

		   (through the open

		    driver's window)

	Fuck procedure.



And to Sykes' shock, he throws the car in gear and peels

out.



			SYKES

	Hey!!



Jetson accelerates toward the security gate.  The guard in

the shack starts yelling and runs out as the slug-mobile

bashes through the barricade bar.



			SYKES

	GEORGE!  GODDAMMIT!!



Sykes stands there like a moron -- with no partner, no

car.  A pickup truck carrying a Worker just getting off

his shift starts ambling past.  Sykes runs in front of it,

waving his badge.  The pickup skids to a stop.



			SYKES

	Police.  Get out.  I need this

	thing.  Out, now!



The poor guy bails out and Sykes jumps in, jamming it into

gear.  The truck has seen better days... it doesn't have

much power to give as Sykes floors it toward the exit.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT



As Jetson races along the freeway, whipping past other

traffic.  He takes a hand off the wheel, reaches over and

pops open the glovebox.  He shoves some maps and garbage

aside, reaches deeper inside for something -- we don't see

what.



				    CUT TO:



INT.  ENCOUNTERS - NIGHT



Cassandra walks a trio of well-dressed DRUG DEALERS (two

alien, one human) through the deserted club.





INT.  SECOND FLOOR CORRIDOR - NIGHT



She leads them to the office door, opens it, then lets

them enter ahead of her.  A couple of them smile at her

lasciviously as they brush past.  She is about to enter

herself when an alien hand flashes in behind her, covering

her mouth, pulling her backward away from the door.



It is Jetson.  He had been hiding behind some crates

stacked here in the corridor.  He pins Cassandra

powerfully to the wall, keeping one hand over her mouth.

She struggles until she sees who it is.



			JETSON

	I am here to take Harcourt.  Where

	is he?



She hesitates, then decides to cooperate, indicates with a

nod toward the office door.



			CASSANDRA

	In there.



			JETSON

		   (pulling his gun)

	Show me.





INT.  CONFERENCE ROOM - NIGHT



The large suitcase rests on the expansive conference

table.  A manicured alien hand reaches in and slowly opens

it.  Inside are fifty one-kilo glass tubes full of the

viscous blue drug.  Also several of the small, individual

dispensers.  It is Harcourt, standing behind the table in

a pool of light, who has opened the suitcase.  He is

flanked by Kipling... with Quint elsewhere in the room.

The room is lit by track light, creating pools of light

and dark.



The two alien Dealers' eyes widen at the sight of the

drug.  The human dealer doesn't know what it is.



			HARCOURT

		   (to alien dealers)

	It's been a long time, hasn't it,

	gentlemen?



			HUMAN DEALER

	What is it?



			HARCOURT

	A sweet indulgence from out past...

	resurrected for our future.



Harcourt sees the hungering expressions on the alien

Dealers' faces... smiles knowingly.  He slides one of the

dispensers from the suitcase.



			HARCOURT

		   (continuing; to

		    alien  dealers)

	Please feel free to sample the

	quality.  The experience will be

	everything you remember it to be...



One of the alien Dealers takes the dispenser, brings it to

his tongue.  The other alien dealer turns to Harcourt--



			ALIEN DEALER

	Where'd you get it?



			HARCOURT

	I arranged to spend some time with

	three very resourceful men.  With a

	certain amount of coaxing, one of

	them was able to reconstitute the

	formula for me.

		   (beat)

	They worked very well together.

	Unfortunately, they are no longer

	with us... but I was fortunate

	enough to reap the benefit of their

	endeavor.



He indicates the drug.  The first alien Dealer sways

gently, enjoying the sensation.  The second alien Dealer

takes his hit... shudders as the first rush washes over

him.  The human Dealer is no fool... he grabs the

dispenser.



			HUMAN DEALER

	Let me try some.

		   (he does,

		    immediately spits

		    it out)

	Jesus!  Tastes like detergent!



			HARCOURT

	And that's all the effect it will

	have on you.  But when my fellow

	Newcomers learn they can obtain it

	here, they will work very hard... to

	make as much money as they can... to

	give it to me.



Suddenly, a voice from the shadows near the open door to

the other office:



			VOICE

	You haven't told him all of it.



Harcourt and the others react.  Quint leaps to his feet,

caught off guard.  Kipling reaches for his shoulder

holster.  A silhouette beside the open door to the outer

office nudges Cassandra into the light of the room, then

steps out himself.  It is Jetson.



Quint gets his gun out, is about to aim... when his eyes

go wide at the sight of something Jetson holds.



It is the plastic explosive charge that Quint was wiring

to the slug-mobile.  The wires are connected and Jetson's

finger squeezes down hard on the detonation push-switch.



			QUINT

	He's got the C-4 charge!



Jetson moves forward slowly, holding the bomb in front of

him.  He is sweating rivers.  The others quickly join him.

He nudges Cassandra ahead of himself, keeping her where he

can see her.



			QUINT

		   (continuing)

	Just take it real casual, buddy.

	Keep your finger on that button and

	don't do nothing squirrely.



			HARCOURT

	If you release that button, you not

	only kill us, but yourself.



			JETSON

	To get you and that--

		   (indicates drug in

		    suitcase)

	-- I would do it.



He says it with such straightforward eye contact, that

Harcourt (and we) know he isn't bluffing.



			JETSON

	Everyone up against that wall.

	Very slowly.

		   (to Harcourt)

	Except you.



Harcourt remains behind the desk.  Cassandra stays where

she is, near Jetson.  The others move to the wall.

Kipling in particular is going nuts, letting this happen.



Jetson takes the "sample" dispenser from the table, tosses

it into the suitcase, then closes the lid and locks it.

All the while keeping his eye on Harcourt and the others.



			HARCOURT

	One small matter seems to have

	escaped your attention.  That--

		   (indicates suitcase)

	-- is not on any books as a

	controlled substance.  Legally it

	might as well be fifty kilos of...

	grape jelly.



			JETSON

	The charge is murder... and

	conspiracy to commit murder.

	Hubley, Porter, Strader... probably

	others.



There's a flicker of concern behind Harcourt's icy blue

eyes.



Cassandra stares at Harcourt.



			CASSANDRA

	You... you killed Strader?



Cassandra runs to Harcourt grabbing his jacket.



			CASSANDRA

	Where's Todd?!  Did you do something

	to Todd?!



Harcourt looks down at her, totally uninvolved.



			HARCOURT

	Todd?  Who is Todd.

		   (then remembers;

		    smiles)

	Ah, poor Mr. Watson.



Cassandra's eyes go wide as the horror of what he said

sinks in.  Jetson nudges Harcourt with the suitcase.  They

start out.  Cassandra, wild with rage, grabs Quint's .357

and with a KEENING WAIL, brings it up toward Harcourt's

face.



			JETSON

	NOOO!



Jetson drops the suitcase as he lunges for the gun.  He

manages to knock it away just as she fires -- the bullet

going