Alien 3 script
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(eyes Hicks narrowly)
INT. OPS ROOM
PAN along Jackson's multi-screen array in Operations, video images of various
Anchorpoint locales: space-suited figure and robot welders making routine
HIGH ANGLE -- THE MALL
A buzzer SOUNDS. Screen directly in front of Jackson displays:
SOURCE: U.P.P. RODINA
>>>DIPL CORPS SHUMAN
Jackson bobs her head, moving the cursor-cap to various "windows" on the
(speaking into headset
Somebody find me Shuman -- tell his we got
incoming Rodina coded standard diplomatic.
His opposite number must've decided it's time
for the weekly bullshit session...
INT. ANTI-BUGGING BUBBLE
Shuman is seated alone at the round table. A miniature video camera is set up
on the table. Opposite him is a lar
ge wall screen displaying an image of the
U.P.P. Diplomatic Officer, also alone, seated at the far end of the narrow
table in the Rodina conference room.
Androids, by law, are afforded the status of
Under your system, yes. We prefer to afford them
the status of machines.
You're holding one of our citizens captive.
The "citizen" in question, the synthetic, Bishop,
has been held in regard to a treaty violation
involving an armed vessel.
Sulaco was homing on Anchorpoint. The so-called
violation was the result of a malfunction.
The matter is under
I repeat: you are holding one of our citizens.
The incident is also being investigated with
regards to an apparent violations of the Strategic
Arms Reductions treaty.
Sulaco's weapons-systems fall entirely within
the prescribed --
I refer to those sections of the treaty concerned
with biological warfare.
Beat. The U.P.P. Diplomat has just scored, but Shuman maintains his poise.
The allegation is false.
We make no official allegations at this time.
The matter remains under investigation. Bishop,
however, is of no further use in the
We are returning him to you.
EXT. ANCHORPOINT -- SHUTTLE BAY -- A U.P.P. SHUTTLE
docking. They bay closes behind it. (V.O.: STATIC, VOICES of Anchorpoint
INT. SHUTTLE BAY
Shuman and two Marines enter the bay. They wear biohazard envelopes, masks.
The shuttle's hatch opens and the Vietnamese Commando steps out. Bishop
emerges. He looks at the Commando, then at Shuman and the Marines waiting at
the bottom of the gangway. The Commando gestures: go.
You're under quarantine orders, Bishop.
(to the Marines)
Escort him to MedLab.
INT. THE MALL
Hicks has just come off shift; the Mall's bar catches his eye. The facade
says it all: ye olde pre-packaged genuine simulated wood-grain generic tavern
and the only joint in town.
One wall is a screen showing a stale rerun of a Brazilian soccer match. Some
of the customers play hologram game-consoles. Tully is seated at the
Hicks takes a stool beside him.
He fishes his dog tags out and detaches one, passes it to the bartender; the
bartender inserts it in a terminal, rings up the beer, hands it back.
You're Hicks. Sulaco...
Tully, in his trademark jacket, is obviously drunk.
Tully. Tech Five. Tissue lab. D-fucking-NA.
Jesus... Sulaco... Lucky.
Lucky? Who? You lucky, man?
You. You're one lucky sonofabitch, Hicks.
Knocks back his drink.
All that way. All the way back here with those...
Those fucking things, man...
s just gotten his sudden, undivided attention.
Things? What things?
Shit... We had to sign. All of us. Lose our
fucking shares we tell anybody, right?
(his whole body tense)
They were on the ship...
Yeah. Jesus. I saw 'em...
Reaches for his glass, but it's empty.
Where? How many? When?
(cuts a glance around the
Bad place to talk... I gotta go now, leave...
(grabbing Tully before he
off the stool)
You aren't going anywhere, buddy.
Tully, sudden energy, not so much at Hicks as at his whole situation:
I didn't come out here to work on shit like that.
Came out here to help design ecosystems, not
build designer for the next year... You want an
earful? You got it. Shift after next, place
called DP-54, Level 7 map. Can't talk here...
He twists out of Hick's grip and into the crowd.
Hicks sits at the bar, staring at his untouched beer.