"ALIENS"
by
James Cameron
FIRST DRAFT
May 28, 1985
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
ALIENS
FADE IN
SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE - SPACE 1
Silent and endless. The stars shine like the love of
God...cold and remote. Against them drifts a tiny chip
of technology.
CLOSER SHOT It is the NARCISSUS, lifeboat of the
ill-fated star-freighter Nostromo. Without interior
or running lights it seems devoid of life. The PING
of a RANGING RADAR grows louder, closer. A shadow
engulfs the Narcissus. Searchlights flash on, playing
over the tiny ship, as a MASSIVE DARK HULL descends
toward it.
INT. NARCISSUS 2
Dark and dormant as a crypt. The searchlights stream
in the dusty windows. Outside, massive metal forms can
BE SEEN descending around the shuttle. Like the tolling
of a bell, a BASSO PROFUNDO CLANG reverberates through
the hull.
CLOSE ON THE AIRLOCK DOOR Light glares as a cutting
torch bursts through the metal. Sparks shower into the
room.
A second torch cuts through. They move with machine
precision, cutting a rectangular path, converging. The
torches meet. Cut off. The door falls inward REVEALING
a bizarre multi-armed figure. A ROBOT WELDER.
FIGURES ENTER, backlit and ominous. THREE MEN in
bio-isolation suits, carrying lights and equipment. They
approach a sarcophaguslike HYPERSLEEP CAPSULE, f.g.
LEADER
(filtered)
Internal pressure positive. Assume
nominal hull integrity. Hypersleep
capsules, style circa late twenties...
His gloved hand wipes at on opaque layer of dust on the
canopy.
ANGLE INSIDE CAPSULE as light stabs in where the dust is
wiped away, illuminating a WOMAN, her face in peaceful
repose.
WARRANT OFFICER RIPLEY, sole survivor of the Nostromo.
Nestled next to her is JONES, the ship's wayward cat.
LEADER
(voice over; filtered)
Lights are green. She's alive.
Well, there goes out salvage, guys.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - TIGHT ON RIPLEY - GATEWAY STATION 3
She's lying in a bed, looking wan, as a female MED-TECH
raises the backrest. She is surrounded by arcane white
MEDICAL EQUIPMENT. The Med-Tech exudes practiced
cheeriness.
MED-TECH
Why don't I open the viewport?
Watch your eyes.
Harsh light floods in as a motorized shield slides into
the ceiling, REVEALING a breathtaking vista. Beyond the
sprawling complex of modular habitats, collectively
called GATEWAY STATION, is the curve of EARTH as seen
from high orbit. Blue and serene.
MED-TECH
And how are we today?
RIPLEY
(weakly)
Terrible.
MED-TECH
Just terrible? That's better
than yesterday at least.
RIPLEY
How long have I been on
Gateway station?
MED-TECH
Just a couple of days. Do you
feel up to a visitor?
Ripley shrugs, not caring. The door opens and a MAN
enters, although Ripley sees only what he is carrying.
A familiar large, orange TOMCAT.
RIPLEY
Jones!
She grabs the cat like a life preserver.
RIPLEY
(cooing baby-cat talk)
Come here Jonesy you ugly old
moose...you ugly thing.
Jones patiently endures Ripley's embarrassing display,
seeming none the worse for wear. The visitor sits
beside the bed and Ripley finally notices him. He is
thirtyish and handsome, in a suit that looks executive
or legal, the tie loosened with studied casualness. A
smile referred to as "winning."
MAN
Nice room. I'm Burke. Carter Burke.
I work for the company, but other
than that I'm an okay guy. Glad to
see you're feeling better. I'm told
the weakness and disorientation
should pass soon. Side effects of
the unusually long hypersleep, or
something like that.
RIPLEY
How long was I out there? They
won't tell me anything.
BURKE
(soothing)
Well, maybe you shouldn't worry
about that just yet.
Ripley grabs his arm, surprising him.
RIPLEY
How long?
Burke gazes at her, thoughtful.
BURKE
All right. My instinct says
you're strong enough to handle
this...Fifty-seven years.
Ripley is stunned. She seems to deflate, her expression
passing through amazement and shock to realization of
all she has lost. Friends. Family. Her world.
RIPLEY
Fifty-seven...oh, Christ...
BURKE
You'd drifted right through the
core systems. It's blind luck that
deep-salvage team caught you when
they...are you all right?
Ripley coughs suddenly as if choking and her expression
becomes one of dawning horror. Burke hands her a glass
of water from the nightstand. She slaps it away. It
shatters with a SMASH. Jones dives, yowling. Ripley
grabs her chest, struggling as if she is strangling.
The Med-Tech hits a console button.
MED-TECH
(shouting)
Code Blue! 415. Code Blue!
4-1-5!
Burke and the Med-Tech are holding Ripley's shoulders as
she goes into convulsions. A DOCTOR and TWO TECHS run
in. Ripley's back arches in agony.
RIPLEY
No...noooo!
They try to restrain her as she thrashes, knocking over
equipment. Her EKG races like mad. Jones, under a
cabinet, hisses wide-eyed.
DOCTOR
Hold her...Get me an airway, stat!
And fifteen cc's of...Jesus!
AN EXPLOSION OF BLOOD beneath the sheet covering her
chest! Ripley stares at the SHAPE RISING UNDER THE
SHEET. Tearing itself out of her.
HER P.O.V. as the sheet rises. A GLIMPSE OF the
CHITTERING HORROR...IT SCREECHES.
TIGHT ON RIPLEY screaming, snapping up INTO FRAME.
Alone in the darkened hospital room. She gasps for
breath, clutching pathetically at her chest. There is
no demented horror rigging itself out of her. Her eyes
snap about wildly, slowly focusing on the reality of
her safety. Shuddering, bathed in sweat, she kneads her
breastbone with the heel of her hand and sobs.
A VIDEO MONITOR beside the bed snaps on. A MED-TECH's
face.
MED-TECH
Bad dreams again? Do you want
something to help you sleep?
RIPLEY
(faint)
No.. I've slept enough.
The Med-Tech shrugs and switches off. Touching a button
on the nightstand she opens the viewport, REVEALING
Gateway and the turquoise Earth. She hugs Jones to her
and rocks with him like a child, still shattered by the
nightmare. Shivering. Sleep is far off.
RIPLEY
We made it, Jones. We made it.
But at what price?
CUT TO:
EXT. PARK 4
Sunlight streams in shafts through a stand of poplars,
beyond which a verdant meadow is VISIBLE.
EXTREME F.G. Jones stalks toward a bird hopping among
fallen leaves. He leaps. And smack into A WALL.
RIPLEY
(voice over)
Dumbshit.
WIDER ANGLE as Jones steps back confused from the
HIGH-RESOLUTION ENVIRONMENTAL WALL SCREEN, a sort of
cinerama video-loop. Ripley sits on a bench in what we
now SEE is an ATRIUM off the medical center, still
somewhere in the bowels of Gateway Station. Benches.
Some unenthusiastic potted trees. The sterile corridors
VISIBLE beyond glass doors b.g.
Burke ENTERS in his usual mode, casual haste.
BURKE
Sorry...I've been running behind
all morning.
Ripley seems healthier now, but still a bit brittle.
RIPLEY
Have they located my daughter
yet?
BURKE
Well, I was going to wait
until after the inquest...
He opens his briefcase, removing a sheet of printer
hard copy, including a telestat photo.
RIPLEY
Is she...?
BURKE
(scanning)
Amanda Ripley-McClaren. Married
name, I guess. Age: sixty-six
...at time of death. Two years
ago.
(looks at her)
I'm sorry.
Ripley studies the PHOTOGRAPH, stunned.
The face of a woman in her mid-sixties. It could be
anybody. She tries to reconcile the face with the
little girl she once knew.
RIPLEY
Amy.
BURKE
(reading)
Cancer. Hmmmm. They still haven't
licked that one. Cremated. Interred
Parkside Repository, Little Chute,
Wisconsin. No children.
Ripley gazes off, into the pseudo-landscape, into the
past.
RIPLEY
I promised her I'd be home for
her birthday. Her eleventh
birthday. I sure missed that
one.
(pause)
Well...she has already learned
to take my promises with a grain
of salt. When it came to flight
schedules, anyway.
Burke nods, a simpatico presence.
RIPLEY
You always think you can make it
up to somebody...later, you know.
But now I never can. I never
can.
Let's get one thing straight...Ripley can be one tough
lady. But the terror, the loss, the emptiness are, in
this moment, overwhelming. She cries silently.
Burke puts a reassuring hand on her arm.
BURKE
(gently)
The hearing convenes at 0930. You
don't want to be late.
INT. CORRIDOR - GATEWAY 5
Elevator doors part and Ripley emerges, in mid-conversation
with Burke. DOLLYING AHEAD OF THEM as they move rapidly
down the corridor.
RIPLEY
You read my deposition...it's
complete and accurate.
BURKE
Look, I believe you, but there are
going to be some heavyweights in
there. You got Feds, you got
interstellar commerce commission,
you got colonial administration,
insurance company guys...
RIPLEY
I get the picture.
BURKE
Just tell them what happened. The
important thing is to stay cool
and unemotional.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - ON RIPLEY - GATEWAY 6
She's not cool. Not unemotional.
RIPLEY
Do you people have earwax, of
what? We have been here three
hours. How many different ways
do you want me to tell the same
story?
She faces the EIGHT MEMBERS of the board of inquiry at a
long conference table. Gray suits and grim faces. They
aren't buying. Behind Ripley on a large VIDEO SCREEN,
PARKER grins like a goon from his personnel mugshot. His
file prints out next to it. BRETT's face and dossier
replace it, and then the others as the SCENE continues...
KANE, LAMBERT, ASH the android traitor, DALLAS.
VAN LEUWEN, the ICC representative, steeples his fingers
and frowns.
VAN LEUWEN
Look at it from our perspective.
You freely admit to detonating the
engines of, and thereby destroying,
an M-Class star-freighter. A
rather expensive piece of hardware...
INSURANCE INVESTIGATOR
(dryly)
Forty-two million in adjusted dollars.
That's minus payload, of course.
VAN LEUWEN
The shuttle's flight recorder
corroborates some elements of
your account. That the Nostromo
set down on LV-426, an unsurveyed
planet, at that time. That
repairs were made. That it resumed
its course and was subsequently set
for self-destruct. By you. For
reasons unknown.
RIPLEY
Look, I told you...
VAN LEUWEN
It did not, however, contain any
entries concerning the hostile
life form you allegedly picked up.
Ripley sense the noose tightening.
RIPLEY
Then somebody's gotten to it...
doctored the recorder. Who had
access to it?
The ECA (Extrasolar Colonization Administration)
Representative (ECA REP) just shakes his head.
ECA REP
Would you just listen to yourself
for one minute.
Ripley glares at the ECA Rep, a woman on the ungenerous
side of fifty. Van Leuwen sighs with exasperation.
VAN LEUWEN
The analysis team which went over
your shuttle centimeter by
centimeter found no physical
evidence of the creature you
describe...
RIPLEY
(losing it)
That's because I blew it out the
Goddamn airlock!
(pause)
Like I said.
INSURANCE MAN
(to ECA Rep)
Are there any species like this
'hostile organism' on LV-426?
ECA REP
No. It's a rock. No indigenous
life larger than a simple virus.
Ripley grits her teeth in frustration.
RIPLEY
I told you, it wasn't indigenous.
There was an alien spacecraft there.
A derelict ship. We homed on its
beacon...
ECA REP
To be perfectly frank, we've surveyed
over three hundred worlds and no one's
ever reported a creature which, using
your words...
(read from Ripley's
statement)
...'gestates in a living human host'
and has 'concentrated molecular acid
for blood.'
Ripley glances at Burke, silent at the far end of the
table. His expression is grim. Her mouth hardens as
a bit of the old nail-eating Ripley surfaces.
RIPLEY
Look, I can see where this is
going. But I'm telling you those
things exist. Back on that planetoid
is an alien ship and on that ship
are thousands of eggs. Thousands.
Do you understand? I suggest you
find it, using the flight recorder's
data. Find it and deal with it --
before one of your survey teams
comes back with a little surprise...
VAN LEUWEN
Thank you, Officer Ripley. That
will be...
RIPLEY
(louder, stepping
on him)
...because just one of those
things managed to kill my entire
crew, within twelve hours of
hatching...
Van Leuwen stands, out of patience.
VAN LEUWEN
Thank you, that will be all.
Ripley stares him down, glowering at the board.
RIPLEY
That's not all, Goddamnit! If
those things get back here, that
will be all. Then you can just
kiss it good-bye, Jack! Just kiss
it goodbye.
Ripley turns sharply away, trembling with frustration
and anger. Dallas looks back at her from the video
screen, his eyes burning from the photograph, as we:
CUT TO:
INT. CORRIDOR 7
Ripley kicks the wall next to Burke who is getting coffee
and donuts at a vending machine.
BURKE
You had them eating out of your
hand, kiddo.
RIPLEY
They had their minds made up
before I even went in there.
They think I'm a head case.
BURKE
(cheerfully)
You are a head case. Have a donut.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - TIGHT ON RIPLEY - LATER 8
Van Leuwen clears his throat.
VAN LEUWEN
It is the finding of this board of
inquiry that Warrent Officer Ellen Ripley,
NOC-14672. has acted with questionable
judgment and is unfit to hold an
ICC license as a commercial flight
officer.
Burke watches Ripley taking it on the chin, white-lipped
but subdued.
VAN LEUWEN
Said license is hereby suspended
indefinitely. No criminal charges
will be filed at this time and you
are released on own recognizance
for a six month period of
psychometric probation, to include
monthly review by an ICC psychiatric
tech...
INT. CORRIDOR 9
DOLLY BACK as the conference room door bangs open and
Ripley strides through. She shrugs off Burke's
restraining arm and catches up to Van Leuwen walking
down the corridor.
RIPLEY
(insistent)
Why won't you check out LV-426?
VAN LEUWEN
(condescendingly)
Because I don't have to. The
people who live there checked it
out years ago and they never
reported and 'hostile organism'
or alien ship. And by the way,
they call it Acheron now.
RIPLEY
What are you talking about.
What people?
Van Leuwen steps into an elevator with some others, but
Ripley holds the door from closing.
VAN LEUWEN
Terraformers...planet engineers.
It's what we call a shake 'n' bake
colony. They set up atmosphere
processors to make the air
breathable...big job. Takes
decades. They've already been
there over twenty years. Peacefully.
The door tries to close. Ripley slams it back. People
are getting annoyed.
RIPLEY
How many colonists?
VAN LEUWEN
Sixty, maybe seventy families.
RIPLEY
(low)
Sweet Jesus.
ELEVATOR PASSENGER
Do you mind?
Ripley's hand slides off the door, strengthless.
TIGHT ON HER FROM INSIDE the elevator as the doors close
like fate on her lost expression.
EXT. ALIEN LANDSCAPE - DAY 10
A hideous, storm-blasted vista. Tortured rock forms.
Bleak twilight at midday.
PAN SLOWLY ONTO a CORRODED METAL SIGN set in concrete
pylons, which reads:
HADLEY'S HOPE - POP. 159
"WELCOME TO ACHERON"
Some local has added below in spray-can graffiti
"Have a nice day." Gale-force wind SCREECHES around
the steel sign, driving a freezing rain.
The COLONY, b.g., is a squat complex with lots of
floodlights.
EXT. COLONY COMPLEX 11
The town is a cluster of bunkerlike metal and concrete
buildings connected by conduits. Neon signs throw garish
colors across the vaultlike walls, advertising bars and
other businesses. It looks like a sodden cross between
the Krupps munitions works and a truckstop casino in
the Nevada boondocks.
Huge-wheeled tractors crawl toadlike in the rutted
"street" and vanish down rampways to underground garages.
ANGLE ON THE CONTROL BLOCK the largest structure. It
resembles vaguely the superstructure of an aircraft
carrier...a flying bridge.
VISIBLE across a half kilometer of barren heath, b.g.,
is the massive complex of the nearest ATMOSPHERE
PROCESSOR, looking like a power plant bred with an active
volcano. Its fiery glow pulses in the low cloud cover
like a steel mill.
INT. MAIN CONCOURSE - NEAR CONTROL BLOCK 12
A central space, laid out like a scaled-down shopping
mall with no styling flourishes. We SEE a cross section
of the types of people who have come to live on
Godforsaken Acheron. Tough. Pragmatic. "Grapes of
Wrath" faces. Calloused hands. Not too many interior
decorators. Some children race in the corridor on things
that look suspiciously like "Big Wheels."
INT. OPERATIONS ROOM - CONTROL BLOCK 13
Jammed with computer terminals, technicians, displays...
most of the business of running the colony flows through
here. It's high tech but used and scrungy. Papers
piled up. Coffee cup rings.
DOLLY AHEAD OF LYDECKER, the Assistant Operations Manager,
as he catches up to the harried Operating Manager,
SIMPSON.
LYDECKER
You remember you sent some
wildcatters out to that
plateau, out past the Ilium
range, a couple days ago?
SIMPSON
Yeah. What?
LYDECKER
There's a guy on the horn,
mom-and-pop survey team. Says
he's homing on something and
wants to know if his claim will
be honored.
SIMPSON
Christ. Some honch in a cushy
office on Earth says go look at
a grid reference in the middle
of nowhere, we look. They don't
say why, and I don't ask. I
don't ask because it takes two
weeks to get an answer out here
and the answer's always 'don't
ask.'
LYDECKER
So what do I tell this guy?
SIMPSON
Tell him, as far as I'm concerned,
he finds something it's his.
EXT. ACHERON - THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE - A SIX-WHEELED 14
TRACTOR - DAY
It roars across corrugated rock, blasting through soggy
drifts of volcanic ash.
INT. TRACTOR 15
At the controls, intent on a PINGING scope, is RUSS JORDEN,
independent prospector. Beside him is his wife/partner
ANNE and in the back their two kids are playing among the
heavy sampling equipment.
JORDEN
(gloating cackle)
Look at this fat, juicy magnetic
profile. And it's mine, mine,
mine.
ANNE
Half mine, dear.
NEWT, their six-year-old daughter, yells from the back...
NEWT
And half mine!
JORDEN
I got too many partners.
NEWT
Daddy, when are we going back
to town?
JORDEN
When we get rich, Newt.
NEWT
You always say that. I wanna go
back. I wanna play 'Monster Maze.'
Her older brother TIM sticks his jeering face close to
hers.
TIM
You cheat too much.
NEWT
Do not. I'm just the best.
TIM
Do too! You go in places we
can't fit.
NEWT
So! That's why I'm the best.
ANNE
Knock it off! I catch either of
you playing in the air ducts again
I'll tan your hides.
NEWT
Mom. All the kids play it...
JORDEN
(reverently)
Holy shiiit!
ANGLE THROUGH FRONT CANOPY ON a bizarre shape looming
ahead. An enormous bonelike mass projecting upward from
the bed of ash. The tractor slows.
Canted on its side and buckles against a rock outcropping
by the lava flow, it is still recognizable as an
EXTRATERRESTRIAL SHIP. Bio-mechanoid. Nonhuman design.
JORDEN
Folks, we have scored big this
time.
EXT. TRACTOR 16
Jorden and Anne step down, wearing ENVIRONMENT SUITS.
Carrying LIGHTS, PACKS, CAMERAS, TEST GEAR. Their
breath clouds in the chill air.
ANNE
You kids stay inside. I mean
it! We'll be right back.
They trudge toward the alien derelict.
ANNE
Shouldn't we call in?
JORDEN
Let's wait till we know what to
call it in as.
ANNE
(nervous)
How about 'big weird thing'?
They pause at a twisted gash in the hull. Blackness
inside.
INT./EXT. TRACTOR 17
Newt has her face pressed to the glass, steaming it.
Watching her parents enter the strange ship. Tim GRABS
HER from behind. She SHRIEKS.
TIM
Cheater!
EXT. LANDSCAPE - NIGHT 18
The tractor and the derelict are dark and motionless.
The wind HOWLS around them.
Tim is curled up in the driver's seat. Newt shakes him
awake, trying hard not to cry.
NEWT
Timmy...they've been gone a
long time.
Tim considers the night. The wind. The vast landscape.
He bites his lip.
TIM
(quavering)
It'll be okay, Newt. Dad knows
what he's doing.
CRASH! Newt SCREAMS as the door beside her is RIPPED
OPEN. A dark shape lunges inside!
Anne, panting and terrified, grabs the dash mike.
ANNE
Mayday! Mayday! This is
Alpha Kilo Two Four Niner
calling Hadley Control.
Repeat. This is...
As Anne shouts the mayday Newt looks past her, to the
ground. Russ Jorden lies there inert, dragged somehow
by Anne from inside the ship. There is SOMETHING ON
HIS FACE. An appalling MULTILEGGED CREATURE, pulsing
with obscene life. Newt begins to SCREAM hysterically,
competing with the shrieking wind which rises to a
crescendo as we:
CUT TO:
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT - GATEWAY - DAY 20
Silence. Ripley, looking haggard, sits at a table in
the dining alcove contemplating the smoke rising from
her cigarette. The place is modest, to be charitable,
and there are few personal touches. Though it's late
in the day Ripley is still wearing a robe. The bed is
unmade. Dishes in the sink. Jones prowls across the
counter. The WALLSCREEN is on, blaring vapidly.
VOICE FROM VIDEO
(o.s.)
Hey, Bob! I heard you and the
family are heading off for the
colonies!
BON
(o.s.)
Best decision I ever made, Bill.
We'll be starting a new life
from scratch, in a clean world.
No crime. No unemployment...
The door BUZZES. Ripley jumps like a cat. Jones doesn't.
INT. CORRIDOR 21
Carter Burke stands in the narrow, dingy corridor with
LIEUTENANT GORMAN, Colonial Marine Corps. Young and
severe in his officer's dress-black. The door opens
slightly.
BURKE
Hi, Ripley. This is
Lieutenant Gorman of the...
SLAM. Burke buzzes again. Talks to the door...
BURKE
Ripley we have to talk.
(pause)
They've lost contact with the
colony on Acheron.
The door opens. Ripley considers the ramifications of
that. She motions them inside.
INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT - A LITTLE LATER 22
Burke and Gorman are seated, nursing coffee. Ripley
paces, very tense.
RIPLEY
No. There's no way!
BURKE
Hear me out...
RIPLEY
I was reamed, steamed and
dry-cleaned by you guys...and
now you want me to go back out
there? Forget it.
We SEE that she's gut scared, covering it with anger.
Burke sees it.
BURKE
Look, we don't know what's going
on out there. It may just be a
down transmitter. But if it's
not, I want you there...as an
advisor. That's all.
GORMAN
You wouldn't be going in with the
troops. I can guarantee your
safety.
BURKE
These Colonial Marines are
some tough hombres, and they're
packing state-of-the-art firepower.
Nothing they can't handle...right,
Lieutenant?
GORMAN
(cool)
We're trained to deal with these
kinds of situations.
RIPLEY
(to Burke)
What about you? What's your
interest in this?
BURKE
Well, the corporation co-financed
that colony with the Colonial
Administration, against mineral
rights. We're getting into a lot
of terraforming...'Building Better
Worlds.'
Burke is revealing his early days in sales.
RIPLEY
Yeah, yeah. I saw the commercial.
BURKE
I heard you were working in the
cargo docks.
RIPLEY
(defensive)
That's right.
BURKE
Running loaders, forklifts, that
sort of thing?
RIPLEY
(shrugging)
It's all I could get. Anyway,
it keeps my mind off of...
everything. Days off are worse.
BURKE
What if I said I could get you
reinstated as a flight officer?
And that the company has agreed
to pick up your contract?
RIPLEY
If I go.
BURKE
If you go.
(pause)
It's a second chance, kiddo. And
it'll be the best thing in the
world for you to face this fear
and beat it. You gotta get back
on the horse...
RIPLEY
(frosty)
Spare me, Burke. I've had my
psych evaluation this month.
Burke leans close, a let's-cut-the-crap intimacy.
BURKE
Yes, and I've read it. You
wake up every night, sheets
soaking, the same nightmare
over and over...
RIPLEY
(shouting)
No! The answer is no. Now
please go. I'm sorry. Just
go, would you.
Burke nods to Gorman who rises with him. He slips a
TRANSLUCENT CARD onto the table, heads for the door.
BURKE
Think about it.
EXT. ACHERON LANDSCAPE - NIGHT 23
As the wind HOWLS through tormented rock, BUILDING IN
PITCH until we:
CUT TO:
INT. APARTMENT 24
Ripley lunges INTO FRAME with an animal outcry. She
clutches her chest, breathing hard. Bathed in sweat
she lights a cigarette with trembling hands. Do we
hear a faint, desolate wind?
TIGHT ON PHONE CONSOLE as Ripley's hand inserts Burke's
card into a slot. "STAND BY" prints out on the screen
and is replaced by Burke's face, bleary with sleep.
BURKE
(on video phone)
Yello? Oh, Ripley. Hi...
RIPLEY
Burke, just tell me one thing.
That you're going out there to
kill them. Not study. Not bring
back. Just burn them out...clean
...forever.
BURKE
That's the plan. My word on it.
CLOSEUP - RIPLEY taking a deep slow breath. It's time
to look the demon in the eye.
RIPLEY
All right. I'm in.
She punches off before Burke replies, before she can
change her mind. She turns to Jones sitting on the
bed and her tone becomes admonishing...
RIPLEY
And you my dear, are staying
right here.
Jones blinks, cynical cat eyes..."count me right
out."
CUT TO:
EXT. DEEP SPACE - THREE WEEKS LATER 25
An empty starfield. Metal spires slice ACROSS FRAME.
A mountain of steel following. A massive military
transport ship, the SULACO. Ugly, battered...
functional.
INT. CORRIDOR TO CARGO LOCK 26
An empty corridor, seemingly miles long. No movement.
The THRUMMING of hyperdrive engines.
INT. CARGO LOCK 27
An enormous chamber, cavernous and dark. Squatting
in the shadows are two orbit-to-surface shuttles.
DROP-SHIPS. Heavy machinery all around them...
cranes, loading equipment.
INT. BRIDGE 28
Dark electronic womb. CAMERA DOLLIES SLOWLY among
murmuring instrumentation. A sudden high-pitched
TRILLING accompanies a sequence of lights. An alarm.
INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT 29
Blackness, until a bank of indicators lights up.
Hydraulics lift a grid of equipment from a row of
horizontal HYPERSLEEP CYLINDERS. It reaches the
ceiling. Locks.
CLOSE ON RIPLEY'S CAPSULE as trickles of water run
down the frosted canopy.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT 30
Lit up, white and sterile.
The canopies of the row of capsules are raised. Ripley
sits up. Rubs her arms briskly. Next to her Gorman
and Burke are stirring and beyond them the troopers,
wearing shorts and dog tags. They are:
MASTER SERGEANT APONE UNIT LEADER
CORPORAL HICKS B-TEAM LEADER
CORPORAL DIETRICH (female) MED-TECH
PFC HUDSON COM-TECH
PFC VASQUEZ (female) 'SMART-GUN' OPERATOR
PRIVATE DRAKE 'SMART-GUN' OPERATOR
PRIVATE FROST TROOPER
PRIVATE CROWE TROOPER
PRIVATE WIERZBOWSKI TROOPER
CORPORAL FERRO (female) DROP-SHIP PILOT
PFC SPUNKMEYER DROP-SHIP CREW CHIEF
The ship is fully automated in interstellar flight so
there is no crew, except for EXECUTIVE OFFICER (ECA) Bishop,
who supervises planetary maneuvering.
GROANS echo across the chamber.
SPUNKMEYER
Arrgh. I'm getting too old for
this shit.
SPUNKMEYER says this sincerely, though he must have
enlisted underage not long ago. Looking surly, DRAKE
sits up. He's young as well but street-tough. Nasty
scar curling his lip into a sneer.
DRAKE
They ain't payin' us enough
for this.
DIETRICH
Not enough to have to wake up
to your face, Drake.
DRAKE
Suck air. Hey, Hicks...you look
like I feel.
HICKS, an older lifer-type who keeps his own counsel,
just snorts good-naturedly.
Ripley scans the group as they shuffle past her to a
bank of lockers. Though not supermen they are lean and
hardened...tough, capable, jaded. They combine the
specialized techno-combat training of the twenty-first
century fighting man with those qualities universal to
"grunts" through the ages. SERGEANT APONE moves down the
row of freezers.
HUDSON
This floor's freezing.
APONE
Christ. I never saw such a
buncha old women. You want me
to fetch your slippers, Hudson?
HUDSON
Would you, Sir?
Ripley steps back as the troopers shuffle past nodding
cursory hellos. She feels isolated by the camaraderie
of this tightknit group.
VASQUEZ eyes her coldly as she passes. Like Drake,
Vasquez is younger then the rest and her combat-primer
was the street in a Los Angeles barrio. She is tough
even by the standards of this group. Hard-muscled.
Eyes cunning and mean.
HUDSON
Hey, Vasquez...you ever been
mistaken for a man?
VASQUEZ
No. Have you?
She slaps Drake's open palm and it clenches into a
greeting which is part contest. It gets rougher.
Painful. Until she cuffs him hard and they break with
vicious laughter. Dobermans playing. Conscripted from
juvenile prison, the two of them were trained to
operate the formidable "SMART-GUNS." That is part
of their bond.
BISHOP is helping everyone like a valet. As he passes
close to her Ripley notices a strange TATTOO across
the back of his left hand...an ALPHA-NUMERIC CODE.
FROST
Hey, hand job, you take my
towel?
SPUNKMEYER
(overlapping)
I need some slack, man. How
come they send us straight back
out like this? We got some slack
comin', man.
HICKS
You just got three weeks.
SPUNKMEYER
I mean breathing, not this frozen
shit.
DIETRICH
Yeah, 'Top'...what about it?
APONE
You know it ain't up to me.
(louder)
Awright! Let's knock off the
grabass. First assembly's in
fifteen...let's shag it.
INT. SHOWERS 31
High pressure water jets and a blast of hot air when
you step out...a drive through car wash for people.
Through the swirling steam Hudson, Vasquez and FERRO
are watching Ripley dry off.
VASQUEZ
Who's the fresh meat again?
FERRO
She's supposed to be some kinda
consultant...
(exaggerated)
...She was an alien once.
HUDSON
Whoooah! No shit? I'm impressed.
APONE
Let's go...let's go. Cycle through!
INT. MESS HALL 32
An unconscious segregation takes place at the troopers
assemble at one long table while Gorman, Burke, Bishop
and Ripley sit at another. Everybody is nursing a
coffee, waiting for eggs from the AUTOCHEF. Among the
troopers dress discipline is lax...fatigues customized
and emblazoned with patches. Drake's tunic is cut off
to a vest and has "Eat the apple and fuck the Corps"
stenciled on back. "Peace Through Superior Firepower,"
"Pray for War" and "I've Served My Time in Hell:
Cetti
Epsilon NC-104" are some others.
HUDSON
Hey, 'Top.' What's the op?
APONE
Rescue mission. There's some
juicy colonists' daughters we
gotta rescue from virginity.
Apone is stocky, grizzled, with peregrine eyes. He runs
it loose and fair, but only because he knows his people
are the best.
SPUNKMEYER
Shee-it. Dumbass colonists.
What's this crap supposed to be?
WIERZBOWSKI
Cornbread, I think. Hey, I wouldn't
mind getting me some more a
that Arcturan poontang. Remember
that time?
HICKS
(low)
Looks like that new Lieutenant's
too good to eat with us grunts.
WIERZBOWSKI
(glancing
over shoulder)
Yeah. Got a corn cob up his ass,
definitely.
Across the room, at the other table, Gorman sits with
his creases perfect...the consummate strack NCO. Bishop
takes a seat beside Ripley, who pointedly gets up and
moves to the far side of the table. He looks wounded.
BISHOP
I'm sorry you feel that way
about Synthetics, Ripley.
Ripley spins on Burke, her tone accusing.
RIPLEY
You never said anything about an
android being here! Why not?
BURKE
Well, it didn't occur to me. It's
been policy for years to have a
synthetic on board.
BISHOP
I prefer the term 'artificial person'
myself. Is there a problem?
BURKE
A synthetic malfunctioned on her
last trip out. Some deaths were
involved.
BISHOP
I'm shocked. Was it an older model?
BURKE
Cyberdyne Systems 120-A/2.
Bishop turns to Ripley, very conciliatory.
BISHOP
Well, that explains it. The
A/2's were always a bit twitchy.
That could never happen now with
out behavioral inhibitors. Impossible
for me to harm or, by omission of
action, allow to be harmed a
human being.
(smiling)
More cornbread?
WHAM! Ripley knocks the plate out of his hand, halfway
across the room.
RIPLEY
Just stay away from me, Bishop!
You got that straight?
Burke and Gorman exchange glances.
Wierzbowski, at the next table, shrugs and turns back
to the other troopers.
WIERZBOWSKI
She don't like the cornbread
either.
INT. READY ROOM - TIGHT ON APONE - ARMORY 33
bellowing.
APONE
Tench-hut!
WIDER ANGLE as the troops snap to from their lounging
among the racks of high-tech weaponry. Gorman enters
with Burke and Ripley.
GORMAN
At ease. I'm sorry we didn't
have time to brief before we
left Gateway but...
HUDSON
Sir?
GORMAN
(annoyed)
Yes, Hicks?
HUDSON
Hudson, Sir. He's Hicks.
GORMAN
What's the question?
HUDSON
Is this going to be a stand-up
fight, Sir, on another bug-hunt?
GORMAN
All we know is that there's
still no contact with the colony
and that a xenomorph may be
involved.
WIERZBOWSKI
A what?
HICKS
(to Wierzbowski;
low)
It's a bug-hunt.
(louder)
So what are these things?
Gorman nods to Ripley, who stands before the troops.
She sets some RECORDING DISKETTES on the table.
RIPLEY
I've dictated what I know on
these.
APONE
Tease us a bit.
SPUNKMEYER
Yeah...previews.
RIPLEY
Okay. It's important to understand
this organism's life cycle. It's
actually two creatures. The first
form hatches from a spore...a sort
of large egg, and attaches itself
to its victim. Then it injects
an embryo, detaches and dies.
It's essentially a walking sex organ.
The --
HUDSON
Sounds like you, Hicks.
RIPLEY
(controlled)
The embryo, the second form, hosts
in the victim's body for several
hours. Gestating. Then it...
(with difficulty)
...then it...emerges. Moults.
Grows rapidly --
VASQUEZ
I only need to know one thing.
RIPLEY
Yes?
VASQUEZ
Where they are.
Vasquez coolly points her finger, cocks her thumbs, and
blows away an imaginary alien.
DRAKE
Yo! Vasquez. Kick ass!
VASQUEZ
Anytime. Anywhere.
HUDSON
Somebody said alien...she
thought they said illegal alien
and signed up.
VASQUEZ
Fuck you.
HUDSON
Anytime. Anywhere.
RIPLEY
(icy)
Am I disturbing you conversation
Mr. Hudson?
Hudson settles down, smirking. Ripley locks eyes with
Vasquez.
RIPLEY
I hope you're right. I really
do.
BURKE
(to all)
I suggest you study the disks
Ripley has been kind enough to
prepare for you.
GORMAN
Are there any questions? Hudson?
HUDSON
How do I get out of this
chicken-shit outfit?
Gorman scowls then, thanking Ripley with a nod, takes
over the predrop briefing.
GORMAN
All right. I want this to go
smooth and by the numbers. I
want DCS and tactical database
assimilation by 0830.
(some groans)
Ordnance loading, weapons strip and
drop-ship prep details will have
seven hours...
EXT. SPACE - ACHERON 34
They have arrived. From orbit the planet looks serene
...Pearlescent cloud cover masking the environmental
torment beneath. The SULACO floats, its MANEUVERING
JETS FIRING. A bluish glow. Then twice more, rapidly.
INT. BRIDGE 35
Bishop is installed in his command seat, hemmed in by
instrumentation.
BISHOP
(into mike)
Attention. This concluded final
maneuvering operations. Thank
you for your cooperation. You
may resume work.
INT. LOADING BAY - TIGHT ON MASSIVE FORKS - CARGO LOCK 34
sliding into a heavy ordnance rack with an echoing
CLANG. PULL BACK as the rack of tactical missiles is
lifted, REVEALING two powerful hydraulic arms.
Spunkmeyer, seated inside a POWER LOADER, swings the
ordnance up into a belly nacelle of the DROP-SHIP where
it locks into place. As he exerts pressure with his
hands against the servo-controls the hydraulic arms
move correspondingly...but with a thousandfold increase
in power. The forklift-style CLAWS on each arm can
crush with tons of pressure. The loader has an open
ROLL CAGE to protect the operator, and is supported
by squat HYDRAULIC LEGS which also move correspondingly
with the driver's movements.
You have never seen anything like this before.
Advanced as it is to us, it's only an old forklift
to them...battered and well used. Covered with grease.
Repainted many times. Across the back is stencilled
"CATERPILLAR."
Spunkmeyer's machine swings out from under the drop-ship
and we become aware of the intense activity throughout
the cavernous loading bay. Troopers on foot or driving
TOW-MOWERS, OVERHEAD LOADING ARMS...all in motion.
Hicks checks off items on an electronic manifest.
INT. READY ROOM - ARMORY 37
Wierzbowski, Drake and Vasquez are fieldstripping
light weapons with precise movements. Around them,
in racks, is an arsenal of advanced personal
artillery.
Vasquez likes the feel of the guns, the weight...the
authority. Her hands move without hesitation. CLACK.
CLACK. CLACK. She swings one of the SMART-GUNS out
on a work stand. Using a body brace and GYRO-STABILIZED
SUPPORT ARM, it is a computer-aimed, video targeted
automatic weapon. The futuristic equivalent of a .30
caliber light machine gun. Sort of a steadicam that
kills.
INT. LOADING BAY - ANGLE ON BURKE AND GORMAN 38
with pre-flight activity b.g.
BURKE
Still nothing from the colony?
GORMAN
Dead on all channels.
Ripley watches the drop-ship being loaded. A cross
between a Huey Aircobra gunship and the space shuttle
might describe it. An orbit-to-surface troop carrier,
heavily armed for the close support of ground missions.
She watches a six-wheeled APC, ARMORED PERSONNEL
CARRIER, being raised hydraulically into the ship's
belly. Ripley looks around as Frost wheels a rack of
incomprehensible equipment toward her.
FROST
Clear, please.
Ripley jumps aside, nodding apologetically. She turns.
Steps hastily back. Hudson cruises by with a laden
forklift.
HUDSON
Excuse me.
ANGLE ON APONE standing with Hicks, as Ripley approaches
him
RIPLEY
I feel like a fifth wheel
here. Is there anything I can
do?
APONE
I don't know. Is there anything
you can do?
RIPLEY
(pointing)
I can drive that loader. I've
got a Class Two rating. My
latest career move.
Apone turns. A SECOND POWER LOADER sits unused in
an equipment bay.
TWO SHOT APONE AND HICKS skeptical. Considering.
TIGHT ON POWER SWITCH as Ripley's finger punches it on.
A RISING WHINE of power.
TIGHT ON THE HYDRAULICS as the massive machine stirs
to life.
FULL, as the loader starts. Ripley is strapped into
the safety cage, her arms and legs inserted in the
servo-sensor assemblies. She takes a step. BOOM!
Two tons of hardened steel takes a step.
Ripley spins the wrist servos. The huge claws swing,
open...slide smoothly into lifting brackets on a
cargo module, nearby. She raises it deftly.
RIPLEY
Where you want it?
Hicks looks at Apone, cocks an eyebrow appreciatively.
INT. READY ROOM - ARMORY 39
The troopers are suiting up for the drop. Strapping on
their bulky COMBAT-ARMOR...interlocking plates like
football padding. They tape their wrists. Draw on
segmented boots. The sole cleats CLACK like hooves
on the deck plates. Lockers SLAM.
WEB BELTS. PACKS. HARNESSES. HELMETS. COM-SETS.
Their fingers move methodically over the fastenings.
It has its own rhythm...CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
APONE
Let's move it, girls! On
the ready line. Let's go,
let's go.
INT. DROP-SHIP - APC 40
Ripley, wearing a flight jacket and headset, files into
the ship with the hulking troopers. Inside they pass
directly into the APC we saw loaded earlier and take
seats facing each other across a narrow aisle. They will
drop already strapped into their ground vehicle for
rapid deployment. A KLAXON SOUNDS, signalling
depressurization of the cargo lock.
Hudson prowls the aisle, his movements predatory and
exaggerated. Ripley watches him working his way toward
her.
HUDSON
I am ready, man. Ready to get
it on. Check-it-out. I am the
ultimate badass...state of the
badass art. You do not want to
fuck with me. Hey, Ripley, don't
worry. Me and my squad of
ultimate badasses will protect you.
Check-it-out...
He slaps the SERVO-CANNON controls in the GUN BAY
above them.
HUDSON
Independently targetting
particle-beam phalanx. VWAP!
Fry half a city with this puppy.
We got tactical smart-missles,
phased-plasma pulse-rifles,
RPG's. We got sonic eeelectronic
ballbreakers, we got nukes, we
got knives...sharp sticks --
Hicks grabs Hudson by his battle harness and pulls him
into a seat. His voice is low, but it carries.
HICKS
Save it.
HUDSON
Sure, Hicks.
Ripley nods her thanks to Hicks. MOTORS WHINE and the
craft lurches. Burke, next to Ripley, grins eagerly
like this is a sport fishing trip.
BURKE
Here we go.
She looks like she's in a gas chamber waiting for the
pellet to drop.
EXT. SULACO 41
The drop-ship lowers from the cargo-lock on a massive
launch rig. The night side of Acheron yawns below...
enigmatic.
INT. COCKPIT 42
Ferro and Spunkmeyer run rapidly through the switches.
FERRO
Initiate release sequencer on my
mark. Three. Two. One. Mark!
EXT. SULACO - DROP-SHIP 43
Hydraulic WHINE. Clamps SLAM BACK. The ship drops.
INT. DROP-SHIP - APC 44
Apone, stalking the aisle, snatches for a handhold.
Bishop, Burke and Gorman groan at the sudden gees.
Ripley closes her eyes...the point of no return.
EXT. DROP-SHIP 45
It screams down through the stratosphere, plunging
into dark turbulence.
INT. COCKPIT 46
Beyond the canopy is gray limbo. The craft shudders
and lurches.
FERRO
(icy calm)
Switching to DCS ranging.
SPUNKMEYER
Two-four-o. Nominal to profile.
Picking up some hull ionization.
FERRO
Got it. Rough air ahead.
INT. HOLD - APC 47
TIGHT ON HICKS asleep in his harness.
FERRO
(voice over;
filtered)
Stand by for some chop.
TIGHT ON GORMAN as the ship begins to buck, his eyes
closed. Pale. Sweating. He rubs his hands on his
knees repeatedly.
RIPLEY
How may drops is this for you,
Lieutenant?
GORMAN
Thirty-eight...simulated.
VASQUEZ
How many combat drops?
GORMAN
Well...two. Three, including
this one.
Vasquez and Drake exchange do-you-believe-this-shit
expressions. Ripley looks accusingly at Burke.
INT. COCKPIT 48
FERRO
Turning on final. Coming around to
a seven-zero-niner. Terminal
guidance locked in. Where's
the damn beacon?
EXT. DROP-SHIP 49
It emerges from the low cloud ceiling. From the twilight
haze ahead the distant colony LANDING BEACONS become
visible.
INT. HOLD - APC 50
Stumbling as the ship pitches, Ripley makes her way
forward to the MOBILE TACTICAL OPERATIONS BAY (MTOB),
a control console lined with monitor screens. She
joins Burke watching over Gorman's shoulder as the
Lieutenant plays the board like a video director.
TIGHT ON MONITOR CONSOLE REVEALING screens labelled with
the names of the troopers. Two for each soldier. The
upper screens show images from the IMAGE-INTENSIFIED
VIDEO CAMERAS in their helmets. The lower screens are
BIO-MONITORS: EEG, EKG, and other graphic life-function
readouts. Other screens show EXTERIOR VIEWS.
GORMAN
Let's see. Everybody on line.
Drake, check you camera. There
seems to be a...
CLOSE ON DRAKE as he whacks himself on the head with
an ammo case. A familiar malfunction.
GORMAN
(o.s)
...that's better. Pan it around
a bit.
APONE
Awright. Fire-team A. Gear up.
Let's move. Two minutes.
Somebody wake up Hicks.
A clatter of activity as they don backpacks and weapons.
Vasquez and Drake buckle on their smart-gun body
harnesses.
Ripley watches the AP station loom on the exterior
screens.
RIPLEY
That the atmosphere processor?
BURKE
Uh-hunh. One of thirty or so,
all over the planet. They're
completely automated. We
manufacture them, by the way.
EXT. SHIP - AP STATION 51
The tiny ship circles the roaring tower. A metal
volcano thundering like the engines on God's Lear jet.
INT. HOLD - APC 52
Gorman plays with the controls, zooming the image of
the colony.
GORMAN
(to Ferro via mike)
Hold at forty. Slow circle of
the complex.
RIPLEY
The structure seems intact. They
have power.
On the screen the colony buildings loom in and the low
visibility like wrecks of freighters on the sea floor.
GORMAN
(to Apone)
Okay, let's do it.
APONE
Awright! I want a nice clean
dispersal this time.
Ripley turns as Vasquez squeezes past her.
VASQUEZ
You staying in here?
RIPLEY
You bet.
VASQUEZ
(turning away)
Figures.
GORMAN
(to Ferro via mike)
Set down sixty meters this side
of the telemetry mast. Immediate
dust off on my 'clear,' then stay
on station.
APONE
Ten seconds, people. Look sharp!
EXT. COLONY COMPLEX 53
Landing beacons sweep harsh light across the wet Tarmac.
The ship roars down, extending the loading ramp. Slams
down on hydraulic LANDING LEGS. The APC hits the ground
a moment later, pulling away from the ship as it leaps
up in a cloud of spray and peels off, circling.
The APC pulls to the edge of the complex. The CREW DOOR
opens. Troopers hit the ground running. Spread out.
They drop behind immediate cover. Apone scans with
him image intensifier visor lowered.
APONE'S P.O.V. through the starlight-scope visor.
Bright as a sunny day, though contrasty and lurid, we
SEE the colony buildings. Trash blows in the street.
No other movement.
GORMAN
(voice over;
filtered)
First squad up, on line. Hicks,
get yours in a cordon. Watch the
rear.
APONE
Vasquez, take point. Let's move.
Sprinting in a skirmish line, Apone's team advances on
the colony main entry-lock. Parked tightly across the
doors are two heavy-duty tractors. Vasquez reaches one
of the tractors, looks inside. The controls are ripped
out, as if by a crowbar or axe. She moves on.
EXT. COLONY BUILDING 54
Vasquez reaches the main doors, Drake flanking on the
right. Apone tries the door controls. Nothing.
APONE
Sealed. Hudson, run a bypass.
Hudson, all business now, moves up and studies the
door control panel. He pries off the facing and starts
clipping on the bypass wires.
APONE
First squad, assemble on me at
the main lock.
The wind roars around the bleak structures. A neon sign
creaks overhead. Hudson makes a connection. The door
shrieks in its tracks and rumbles aside. It jams
partway open. Apone motions Vasquez inside. She
eases over the wrecked tractor, through the doors.
The others follow.
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